Symphonic Chaotix: The Dissonant Harmonies
by Tylec Asroc
Summary: What began as a routine burglary probe has grown into a case that could break the quarrelsome Chaotix once and for all. For Vector it’s come to a showdown with an uncatchable master thief, a woman who defied & destroyed all who crossed her path.
1. Prelude: The Discovery At The Docks

Copyright information: The beginning of this story written as a NetRaptor(.)org fanfiction contest teaser. It is not copyrighted, and may be modified as the author sees fit. Any fanfiction written with this teaser may be freely distributed. The Sonic characters are copyrighted by Sega.

All minor characters are copyrighted by Tylec Asroc and may not be reproduced without author consent.

* * *

**_SYMPHONIC CHAOTIX:_  
The Dissonant Harmonies**

-Written by Tylec Asroc-

. You keep watching from your picket fence,  
You keep talking but it makes no sense.  
You say we're not responsible,  
But we are.  
You wash your hands and come out clean,  
Fail to recognize the enemies within.  
You say we're not responsible,  
But WE ARE!  
--We Are. Ana Johnsson

* * *

Vector the crocodile wandered through the electronics store, drooling at the racks of headphones, stereos and CD players. His own CD player was scuffed and dusty, and had developed a tendency to skip and click during play. He had twenty dollars in his belt pocket, and was shopping for a new player.

He picked up one player the size and shape of a CD, put on the sample headphones and popped in his CD. The sound quality was stellar compared to his old setup, and he cranked up the volume and listened in bliss.

After the first song was over, he read the card that listed what was included in the package with the CD player--ah, rechargeable batteries, just what he needed. Too bad this one was beyond his price range. He reluctantly removed the headphones and his CD, and shuffled down the aisle, looking at price tags.

He discovered a cheaper player and tested it out. He didn't turn the volume up quite as loud as before, but the sound quality was nearly as good as the first player. Maybe it was the headphones that made such a difference.

As he stood there fiddling with the controls, he became aware of voices talking on the next aisle. Vector didn't mean to eavesdrop, but the secretive tone of their voices made him curious. He lowered the volume and cocked his head.

"What time? Did he say?"

"No, just sometime this evening. Bring your tools. Six o'clock, I'd say."

"What about the police?"

Vector straightened.

"They've been taken care of. There'll be no interference until eleven. Three hours is plenty of time."

"This isn't the place to talk about this. Let's get out of here."

Vector began bobbing his head to his music, pretending to hear nothing else. He heard the footsteps of the two crooks as they passed the end of his aisle, but he ignored them and acted totally immersed in his music.

As soon as the store's door closed, he switched off his music and picked up the CD player. This was the one he wanted. And it seemed he had also picked up a new job for the Chaotix Detective Agency.

* * *

The city nightline hummed with a calm serenity. Four months, but finally the people of Corvalis had grown accustomed to the nightly intrusions on their sleep, their senses dulled to the continual throbbing of airborne robots.

Above the twinkling city of silhouettes and streetlights, blanketing the stars like a swarm of locusts, hovered the mechanical legions of the Guardians of the United Nation. _Hoverpods_, to be specific. Flying camera nodes that buzzed through the air, their red "eye" sensors giving a neon tinge to the night sky and prop-fans emitting all the noise of a flock of helicopters.

Deployed above every major metropolis after the chaos that arose with the scarring of the moon, the metal sentinels served as a precautionary defense for a world still recovering from direct exposure to hatred and destruction. Every month, a phantom laugh seemed to crow victory over the incomplete face in the sky.

Down at the Corvalis harbor, Vector firm abhorrer of any mechanical beastie with a brain fixed his snarling jaws at the concrete stars daring to reassure him that the world was in secure hands. Typical of those noodle-heads up at G.U.N. jumping to the rescue and playing hero after the ordinary shmucks saved the day!

The half-sized chameleon at his side shared his sullen grumbling, but that was nothing new. It took a lot of effort for a guy like Espio to look cheery, what with a horn sticking out of his face.

The helmet-headed lizard scowled once again. "You sure this is the place?" Faith was no longer a strong virtue of Espio's. Not after the years they'd worked together.

"Nat teh worry," grinned the eternal optimist. "I followed those suckers fer a good hour this is where they're meetin'!" The crocodile had stretched his surveillance skills to their limit in order to trace the suspicious sneaks, ducking behind streetlamps, peeping out of mailboxes and masquerading as a water-spouting cherub atop a water fountain.

A distant whine, like a high note warbling on violin strings, descended upon the duo, and a tiny honeybee in an absurd flight helmet and goggles accompanied the shrill music with a buzzing nosedive into their faces. Espio made a punctual sidestep from the crash site.

The little bug smashed into the croc's face and keeled him over like a bowling pin.

"Vecter, vecter, vecter!" he yipped like a little puppy dog, hopping on the toppled 'dile's snout like it was a diving board. "I found 'um Vecter! They're here, they're here!"

"Whoa, whoa! Slow down Charmy!" But the sugar-kid just babbled on about how he'd spotted a van pull up, and how another guy met the truck and how he pointed the driver to a warehouse and, and, and

"CHARMY!"

It was not so much the volume of the croc's voice, but the stink of his breath that shut the kid up. A nauseous Charmy wobbled and plopped onto Vector's chest as though sprayed with pesticide.

Espio administered some smelling salts (he dunked the kid's head in the river) and soon he and Vector followed the report of their impromptu, eye-in-the-sky recon agent: Two strong men matching the profiles from the music store had driven a black van into the harbor, where they'd unloaded a third man, dressed in black, before hiding the truck.

The third man rendezvoused with an oily rat who zipped about on a motorcycle. After a short dialogue, the newcomer was pointed towards a warehouse where the black van had parked inside.

Vector asked the little kid if there was anything else he noticed.

"Ummm " Charmy buzzed over the question. "Oh! Oh yeah the bad-guy on the motor-psycho,"

"Motor_cycle_," Vector intervened.

"Yeah, well he wus carrying a guitar case." To which Vector jumped with a pouncing "AHA!"

"What?" Espio asked irritably.

Vector explained his revelation. "I knew these punks were bad news the minute I laid eyes on 'em! They're obviously packin' a machine-gun in that case! I tell ya boys, were onta something big here!"

Espio puzzled over the overblown logic of the senior detective. "Hiding guns in a guitar case?"

"Okay Charmy this warehouse they went inta. Did it have any skylights?"

"Yup-er-oonie!"

"Then you know what teh do Espio."

"Hmph. Roger."

Vector just smirked back. Espio was such a pessimist the chameleon just didn't have a nose for success like he did. "Okay boys, this is it. Charmy? You stick close and stay outta trouble, y'hear? Espio? On my signal, hit 'em fast. These guys are probably nothin', but we gatta be careful"

And while Vector droned on with his pep-talk, Charmy Bee slipped away to his own private reality, from whence he released a long, relaxing

A green snout mashed up against his button nose with an accusing snarl. "You were _yawnin'!_" the croc' declared condemningly.

Charmy's eyes bugged out and he hasted to prepare a defense. "Wus not!" he pouted.

Vector was beyond angry he sizzled and fumed like bacon left too long on the griddle. "We hadda deal, kiddo! I take you on a job; you take a nap!"

"I didn't need a nap!" Charmy fired back. "I I " he paused to yawn again; jaws stretching like a snake, to the point of detachment. When his peepers peeped open again, Vector was staring him down as though the bee held a flashing neon sign reading _I'm a liar! Ask me how!_

"I'm not tired!" Charmy reiterated with baggy eyes. Espio crossed his arms and shook a disapproving glare.

Vector slapped his forehead and cringed. "Yeesh, what've you been doin' all day? I bet you were playin' those stoopid video-games again!"

"Yeah? Well Espio wus playin' with me!"

To which the aloof chameleon froze like a record stuck on the turntables. "Umm umm"

The croc whacked him on the noggin. "Y'keepin' the kid up t'play games? Look at 'em he's ready t'fall over!" To which Charmy promptly straightened up his tired face.

"Y'nuthin but a bad influence on t'kid, Espio!"

"Yeah, Espio, you're a bad infloozence!"

"You traitor," the lizard hissed while nursing his new bump.

* * *

The reptilian duo chased after their bite-sized scout to a dilapidated, barn-like warehouse at the far side of the harbor. The surrounding shacks kept quiet, listening to the slosh of water and the buzz of hoverpods, but this creaky ancient had fired up with activity. Broken windowpanes warmed with yellow light and glowed mischief in the abandoned hours of the night.

The chains binding up the doors had been cut, and the entrance left casually ajar. Through the small opening, Vector could hear voices.

And screaming. Vector darted his snout around the corner.

The measly rat who'd rode in on the bike was tied up to a chair. The burly humans from the store mean brutes with ugly crew cuts stood guard behind his shoulders while the man in black interrogated.

"Where is she?" he repeated, cold and to the point. The battered rat panted, but kept his mouth shut. The leader motioned for another beating.

"A set-up," Espio frowned. "We're in the middle of some sort of mob-war." The captors were obviously high-ranking professionals, judging by their practiced efficiency at torture.

Vector's tolerance for the renegades had reached its limit. "I don't care who these guys think they are they ain't beatin' up that kid!" He was growling like a hungry predator. "Espio get up there naw! You know the signal."

"I'm on it!" The chameleon got down to business, scaling the walls like a leathery spider. Charmy's gaping eyes followed the neat-o trick, and he might have floated up like a balloon to track the wall-crawler if Vector hadn't nabbed his foot and yanked the kid down to reality.

"What do I do?" Charmy asked, excited to join the game.

"I don't care," Vector snorted. "Just stay outta the way, kid. If you get shot or lose a leg, don't come cryin' teh me."

"They won't catch me!" Charmy declared, and snapped on his goggles for battle. His eyes were immediately magnified to ludicrous, nerdy proportions, like frosty black hockey pucks.

The quick wink of a flashlight confirmed Espio in position, creeping though the broken skylights. Vector drew his revolver - a little electric pop-gun that delivered a nasty, non-lethal shock down the fired cord - and held it ready. Now all he needed was a little music to set the mood ...

* * *

Inside the warehouse, the three mobsters gave a collective pause to their interrogating.

"You hear something?" grunted one of the muscled goons, cocking his ears to a deep thumping.

"I feel something," the other replied, sensing the vibrations that rippled and shook his body.

"It sounds like "

" a bass line?"

The warehouse doors exploded under a dynamite kick and slammed into the walls. Heavy dust whisked into the air like fog-effects at a rock concert. Barging through the archway on the floodwaters of pounding rock music, his silhouette alone coursing fright through the crooks, there strutted a lime-green crocodile wrapped in gold chains and posh sneakers, tapping his tail to the obnoxious beat and daring them to take him seriously.

"ALL RIGHT, FREEZE, SLIME-BALLS!" he crooned with a Jersey accent. "THIS IS A RAID!"

And when the loony little bee with the preppy blazer, the lucky ladybug badge and the nerdy coke-can goggles buzzed over the croc's shoulder like a parrot, shouting, "YEAH! SLIME, FREEZE-BALLS!" it was probably just the sharp canines and the outstretched gun that kept the mobsters from acting on the impulse to snort and laugh.

Something sharp whizzed through the air, and three bad haircuts turned at the _pop!Hisssss_ of a flattening tire off their black van.

"That," growled the horned lizard dematerializing from the walls, "was a warning shot. Don't move." His next knife was cocked over his shoulder, ready to throw.

The newcomer's hard eyes burned with yellow sunfire; his leather boots bore angry metal studs and his gauze-taped gloves jangled like spurs with the clink of concealed projectiles, but nevertheless, his body still hung precociously on the borderline of cotton-candy-pink, so he didn't seem all that scary.

The criminals and hostage spent some time sizing up their assailants, a trio so odd; so bizarre, that the only natural habitat all three might share would be a bus stop.

The leader in the black suit snarled on behalf of his group.

"Leave. This doesn't concern you."

Vector stepped forward and made sure they could see his gun. "Shoot us, and you will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law," warned the leader.

"Shaddup! Hands in the air," Vector commanded.

"Yeah! Hands in the air," Charmy parroted.

The man in black smirked and motioned to his underlings that they should humor the request. Like robots, they obeyed instantly, arms above their quickly blanked faces. Espio tensed, sensing some plot afoot.

"Might I inquire as to your intentions?" the leader asked with an intellectual poise. "Are you going to 'mug' us? 'Stick us up' and relieve our wallets of currency?"

"Espio?"

"Sounds like poetic justice for these crooks."

The leader snorted and took a bold step forward. "_Crooks?_ You renegades have no idea what you've interrupted."

"Looks teh me like we busted some bullies pickin' on the runt, there. Now turn around, an' keep those hands up!"

"Of course," the leader nodded drolly, while Vector moved to secure him. Espio covered the goons, who watched their commander closely. Charmy hovered nervously and the beaten rat watched the scene vaguely with his ragged, half-conscious breathing.

Vector reached a hand to pad for weapons. The human spun with whirlwind reflexes and slapped the gun from his grip.

"Hey! You little"

A lethal sidekick slammed into the croc's gut and pitched him to the floor.

"VECTER!"

Espio spent a second too long reacting, and the twin goons rushed with pile-driver punches.

"ESPIO!" Charmy's eyes nearly popped out of his goggles, and he zipped behind the tied-up rat to hide and watch the fight unfold.

The human bruisers rushed Espio again, but the chameleon proved far too skilled, hopping to the air like a rising crane and slamming karate-kicks into their chests. The goons crashed into the concrete with an approving cheer from Charmy.

The black-suited leader took a ready stance as Vector righted himself, then charged to pummel the croc's soft underbelly with kidney punches. He quickly learned from Vector's toothy smirk and his throbbing, raw hands, that crocodile hide was immensely tough, even in so-called 'weak spots'.

They tussled and spared to the beat of hard rock, brutal martial arts against basic thrashing and smashing, but there proved no competition against the leathery muscles of the green wrestling-machine. Vector thwacked black suit with his tail; then threw a right hook that beaned the nut in the jaw. K.O.!

The cool croc immediately retrieved his sidearm and hit a stance that covered all the goons with his outstretched gun. Espio back-flipped to his partner's side, flanking in a crouch with weapons at the ready. Both grunted affirmative to see all three bozos out for the count. Charmy rejoined above their heads, punched the air and completed the pose with a little dance.

Vector lowered his gun and nodded at the justice served. "Before you boys start anuder fight, better know who yer messin' with! WE'RE THE CHAOTIX!"

To which Charmy added, "SHA-BOOM!"

* * *

From the moment he regained consciousness to the minute he was untied, the rat couldn't stop thanking them. "Thank you, thank you," he panted in fearful worship. "I owe you guys. You won't regret this. Grinder repays his debts honest!"

Grinder, as he was dubbed, wore bleached jeans and bad, black leather to match his motorbike, but the clothes hung far too loose on the kid to produce any menacing effect. He shuffled under pant-legs that flopped and swallowed his feet like woman's skirts and constantly pushed back the long and loose sleeves of his jacket to wrinkly scrunches at his elbows. The gray-furred rat seemed about Espio's age, but the dangling clothes and jittery demeanor made him look like a child caught playing dress-up.

"They blackmailed me," he replied quickly to their pestering questions. "They, uh, said they had my, uh, sister down here. That they'd hurt her if I didn't come."

Even Charmy could tell the mouse was lying, but he checked to make sure.

"Psst! Vecter!" he whispered, forgetting that to whisper, one had to be _quiet._ "Is he lying?"

Espio just groaned.

"Quite the story," Vector nodded, ignoring the honeybee and eyeing the guitar case that had aroused his suspicion. He made a jaunty stroll for the instrument container. "But of course, if you're absolutely innocent, then why did you bring _this?_"

His tail lashed out and unclipped the latches. A guitar was inside. A nice, red, electric guitar.

Espio slapped his head and kept groaning.

Grinder rushed quickly to protect his instrument. "They called me just after I got out of band practice," he explained, swiftly closing the case. Vector couldn't sense any fabrication, but maybe he was too busy shuffling awkwardly to notice.

"I see" he coughed.

Grinder dug into his pocket and broke the tension. "Here." Espio received a small business card for a downtown music shop. "I work there. You ever need a favor or anything, you know who to ask for."

"Don't move," Espio snarled, sensing the fleeing instinct. "We're gonna call the cops; you gotta stick around and give a testimony."

"He's right," Vector chimed in. "Plus, we aught a look at that eye."

Grinder touched his puffy, squinting eye, noticing for the first time it was swollen shut. "Oh," he startled, slinging on his guitar case casually. "I I think it'll be fine."

"But those bad-guys just beat you up!" Charmy pointed out.

"Siddown," Vector ordered to the wobbly, bruised-up mouse. "We gotta get you teh the hospital."

Grinder sighed and relented. "Okay, I guess you're right." The team sighed as a whole.

The mouse chewed his lip and flicked his good eye around nervously in the ensuing silence. "See ya!" he chimed and dashed outside.

"HEY!"

The Chaotix tried to follow, but ended up squashed at the door and fighting to get out first. The kid was gone by the time they all tumbled out the narrow slit like gumballs from a candy machine.

"You won't regret this! Grinder pays back his debts!" they heard him shout over the din of his departing motorbike.

Espio clenched his eyes and commenced groaning. No one heard him underneath three-hundred pounds of crocodile.

* * *

"911 Dispatch. How may I direct your"

"Police division," Vector interrupted, and paused for transfer. "This is the Chaotix Detective Agency; got a citizen's arrest teh report. We picked up a mob operation at Pier 52 at the south docks. Send a few squad cars, willya, sweetheart?"

The woman at the other end gave funny pause probably unaccustomed to the breach in etiquette. "Pier Fifty-Two" Her muttering stopped. "Pier Fifty-Two?" she repeated with an undertone of urgency. "Sir, may I ask who's calling?"

"Call me Vector. I'm with the Chaot"

"VECTOR!" Her voice blasted through the receiver with bug-eyed panic. "Oh my gosh, oh my gosh you're that maniac crocodile everyone keeps talking about! BETH," she hollered to someone on the other end.

There was some shuffling, and the phone exchanged hands. "Vector?" a familiar voice inquired.

"Beth! Hey, haven't heard ya fer a while how ya doin'?"

"Shut up, Vector! Oh my gosh, don't tell me you're down at the piers!"

"You betcha, honey! Me an the boys just busted some kinda kidnappin' operation or somethin'."

"You did what??"

"That's right, Beth. Couple o' mobsters grabbed a kid an' tried teh beat 'im up! Well, we showed 'em a thing 'r two, an they'll have few bruises teh remember us by."

Beth was now speaking with the other lady, but it came over the line, quick and panicked. "Did you send out that dispatch? You sent it out!!" To the crocodile, "Vector: get out of there! If you do one intelligent thing with your life, I'm begging you, leave!!"

"What? Ohh no ya don't Beth. I ain't missin' out on any reward! Gotta go!"

_click._ Vector closed up the nifty cell phone borrowed off one of the crooks, all three of which were tied up in a bundle and subject to pokings with a stick by a dopey little bee. Ah, let the kid have his fun. He'd been so excited to join a case; the poor kid spent all his time cooped up in the apartment, or whatever it was he did all day. Vector had never cared to ask.

"Good work, boys! A job well done!"

"Yeah!" Charmy chimed in agreement. "We rocked! We kicked their"

"CHARMY!"

"Sorry"

A pity the kid ran away, but who could blame him, beaten and terrified as he was? Oh well, they'd track him down for a statement and check-up soon enough. They _were_ detectives, after all.

Espio busied himself by fishing through the supply van, coiled tail poking out the back doors. His voice hit a worried note. "Uh, Vector? I think you'd better take a look at this "

The brains of the detective agency plodded over to inspect Espio's findings. "HOLY CANOLI! These guys musta been heavy inta spyin': Look at all this stuff radios, radar screens, computers! It's like a military base in here! We musta busted a major operation!"

"Uh Vector, I think these guys are"

"We've hit the jackpot this time! Hoo boy, there's gonna be a big reward for pullin' in these scum!"

"Hey Vecter! Look at _this!_"

The little bee had managed to pry a juicy wallet from black-suit's pocket, much to Vector's annoyance. "Charmy! What did I say about handlin' evidence?"

"But Vecter, you gotta see this cool, shiny credit card! It's from..." he squinted, channeling all his attention to decipher the letters, "It says it's from G U N That spells gun!"

Vector toned down the volume on his headphones to be sure he caught that. "_GUN?_"

"Yeah, it's in that wallet the bad guy was carrying! " There came a quick flash of _Eureka._ "Hey, wow Gun! This guy's credit card has the same name as the army!"

His innocent, child-mind processed an irregularity in logic.

"Hey Vecter if they're bad-guys, how come they've got a credit card from the good guys?"

With a click of a button, the music stopped, and the warehouse dropped into dead, dumbfounded silence. Vector looked at the humans, two of which sported square, short crew cuts like those given to army infantry. He checked the van to be sure he'd seen right. Computers. Hi-tech radios. He turned with a very worried face to Espio for support. The chameleon just plucked the identification card from Charmy and submitted the findings.

**G.U.N.  
Guardians of the United Nation:**  
_Intelligence Division_

Agent Derek Smithson  
Level 5 Security Clearance

Even Charmy had pieced the clues together, judging by the very pale, worried look on the little guy's face. Vector swallowed back his worries with a trembling gulp and just managed to whisper, "Oh no"

Espio curled his lips and confirmed the discovery with a grave nod.

Vector jumped into a boisterous outrage. "The noive of these guys! Pickin' on a little kid! They're military! What happened teh honour and duty?"

_boiiing._ Charmy's nervously-clenched antennae snapped loose in a miniature explosion of tension. They beat up army men! Good guys! Well, technically he'd just watched, but he was still accountable as a spy and an accomplice. By some keen intuition of childhood, he understood that he was gonna die.

About that time, police sirens came into hearing and Charmy and Espio exchanged doomed looks while Vector continued to ramble about the responsibility and decency expected of the armed forces. Both them made themselves very quiet, very discreet, and took large, backwards steps from the trio tied up on the floor.

" Well, I fer one say we stay here and face em down. Yeah, they might be military, but that's no excuse teh pick on an innocent little kid in biker colours!"

Flashlights and handguns jogged into the warehouse and took offensive positions around the scene. "Boys, boys," Vector shushed, "Put down the guns everythin's been takin' care of here."

"FREEZE! HANDS UP, FURRY!"

Vector's snout dropped with offended exaggeration. "Furry? I'm Class Reptilia and proud of it, bucko!"

The rush of helicopters whooshed over the scene, and the blinding searchlights of Hoverpods lashed at Vector's eye. Black trucks pulled up outside, dwarfing the police cruisers and unloading black-suited agents. There seemed to be some dispute regarding command, but the robot and human peace officers both kept their guns trained on him.

A familiar voice pounded over the chaos of unloading troops. "Vector, you imbecile!" The Commissioner? "Chucky?" Vector asked.

The old, mustached human was spitting in his face. "You nitwit! Do you realize what you've interrupted here? The military has been working this sting-operation for weeks to capture that informant! Where is he?"

"Informant?" Vector fired back. "Only guy the Big Boys caught was a a" He caught himself, thinking back to the squirmy rat, the quick liar and the quicker runner. "Oh "

_Wait a second._ "They were torturin' him!" Vector rebuked. "How's that for proper an' legal conduct! My boys saw everythin', right Esp"

Espio? To his left, he could hear the soft pad of invisible footsteps up the wall.

Charmy? To his right, the distant whine of ascending flight.

"Far as I can see," the commissioner snorted, "You're in this alone."

The old friend would say no more. The commissioner spat on the floor and left the crocodile to the S.W.A.T. teams. Police officers in riot gear quickly surrounded the crocodile and read his rights. "You're under arrest for assault and battery of a government officer. You have the right to remain silent"

Vector hung his head shamefully and offered his wrists for handcuffing. He did not resist. It seemed he had also offered a new disgrace for the Chaotix Detective Agency ...

* * *


	2. Broken Home

Skill and aptitude were certainly decisive factors in the success of detective work. Vector, however, found that cracking most cases was a matter of knowing the right people and a little bit of luck. The latter, it seemed, saved the leader of the Chaotix from disappearing in a puff of conspirital smoke. 

Thanks to the Guardians' fair and understanding officers (and due to some rather questionable conduct Vector could testify against), the Intelligence Division was hardly eager to give the crocodile a day in court. The agents commended the detective's stupid good intentions for the cameras (and gave him a few threats off-screen), washed their hands and ordered the local law enforcement to lock the croc up. 

With each passing day in the post-ARK world, Commissioner Davis and his men found themselves on the losing end of a power struggle. Hoverpods now spied on police dispatches and emergency alarms, arriving at select crime scenes like superheroes - immobilizing crooks with adhesive sprays or electric shocks and seizing the glory while the properly authorized first-responders were left with the administrative lock-up. 

The operation to apprehend the rat Grinder, Vector learned through eavesdropping, was not the first local case outright commandeered by the national peacekeepers. Every officer on the civic force felt chafed by the borderline martial law placed over the provinces - like a little sibling ordered around by big brother - and jailing this scum of a higher jurisdiction was one order they would not swallow. 

For sake of appearances, Vector was charged with public mischief and spent the weekend at the stationhouse, where a haggard collection of drunks and juvenile delinquents welcomed back the regular. The croc blocked out the chatter of his usual cellmates and curled up in a corner with a defeated weariness. 

When an unsullied hand (discreet to the point of invisibility) left an envelope with his legal fines, Vector was released. The cops found him a useful tool to vent their irritation, and held a mock celebration for the detective's most recent bunging. Officers rose from their desks, clapping and cheering _For he's a jolly good fellow,_ while Vector stiffened his jaw and clung to what dignity could be salvaged. 

"See ya later, gator! This makes nine, don't it?" 

"Screw up soon furry! It gets quiet here without ya!" 

"Hey V-man, I saw a ghost in that house on the hill! Sounds like a mystery for the Chaotix!" 

"Leatherhide! I've got a case right up your alley! Think fast!" Vector turned around so that the flying funnel of newspaper jabbed him right in they eye. 

"GAH!" He clutched his face, staggering and seriously hurt while the din of laughter boiled into a roar. 

"Don't worry folks! His keen detective skills will help him find the exit!" Blindly, Vector plunged for the door, caught his foot and tumbled down the tall stoop like a leathery, green donut. "W-Whoa!" His jaw smacked into the sidewalk. 

The doors swung open-close in the cold night, laughter rising and falling with each swing. 

Sprawled down the stairs like a carpet, Vector noticed the rolled-up newspaper responsible for his fall. Releasing a soft, sighing growl, he picked up the bundle and began a weary tread down the street, finding his head a very heavy thing to hold up. 

The night fell heavy over Corvails, and Hoverpods lit the dark sky like warning beacons. He had no money even for a bus pass - he'd spent it all on the new CD player, now scuffed and scratched from the tumble. Vector flapped open the news journal, intent to see just what headlines had spurred his fall. 

The paper was the _Daily Spooner_, a trashy tabloid that promised to "dish out the daily dirt" with all the credibility of a panicky honeybee proclaiming innocence at the scene of broken china. The front-page illustration depicted a screaming, cartoon human clinging to a piece of furniture while an alien spaceship deployed its tractor beam to vacuum up his pocket change. 

HOME INVASION OR ALIEN INVASION?   
_"Aliens broke into my house; stole nothing!" - local nutjob._

Vector mashed the paper like it was a neck to be wrung, stuffed it in his belt and started on the long walk to his broken home. 

Home was far away from the central police station - far outside the cheery, well-lit shops and cafes in the downtown districts and underneath an old bridge holding up the rail lines. Vector could feel the streetlamps spread thin and the road ahead grow dark and gritty. 'Well, I'm home…' 

His neighbourhood of three years past kept separate from the fresh and clean collective of Corvalis like an ugly scar or mole on a beautiful face. Downhill Street was a place where angry voices screamed in neon graffiti; where fading, thin apartments huddled to the point of claustrophobia. The fire escapes and hotel billboards hung off the bricks like starved, bony limbs. Home was a painting scraped together from a palette of concrete gray and gravel brown; where the only glimpse of green walked on two legs and told himself this was all a temporary, cost-saving venture. 

Three years and still, he called it home. 

He didn't even have a key. Vector padded his body up and down, but no key. Begrudgingly, he rang the room for _Chaotix._ The door opened without discourse. They knew who it was. 

Up the weary steps to the third floor, where a makeshift banner confirmed room 35 as the _Chaotix Detective Agency - Head Office._

The front "reception room" stood dark and still. Vector closed the door with a long creak, moving with practiced tread around the dumpy couches and withering houseplants to the office in the back, to the sound of a whirling knife paring the air like a coin flicked from a thumb. 

He pushed the doors aside. Moonlight from the solitary window spread like a spotlight over his desk and around his high-backed rotating chair - both now occupied by a sharp-angled usurper with his boots kicked up and his eyes pulsing amber in the midnight. 

Espio caught his knife one last time and tucked it away. "Welcome back," sneered the flat whisper of a voice too important to spare emotion or intonation for the plebes. 

Vector crossed the room in three angry strides, seized the chameleon by the neck and slammed him like a tack into the bulletin board on the back wall. 

"You dirty traitor!" Vector snarled, half a mind from eating the little hors-d'oeuvre. His tail whipped the desk clean so he could smash Espio into the sheet metal. "Y'left me there teh hang like a buzzard on teh grill, you sneakin' creeper! You selfish, rotten little…" 

Vector forgot what he was saying, instead concentrating on hammering the lizard's head into the desk. Espio gagged and struggled, his free-roving eyes rolling around with cross-eyed disarray. 

"Da kith!" he sputtered like a broken squeaky toy. "Iph jus p-p-put da kith ta s-sleep!" 

Somehow, the crocodile weighed the peaceful sleep of the little urchin over some well-deserved clobbering. He didn't know how - the math just fit. He gave Espio's head one last slam and left him limp on the desk, plopping down into the cushions of his personal chair with sudden weariness. Espio wheezed and panted, limp as a rag doll. 

"Jeez, you nearly popped my head off that time!" 

"Huh! Y'd think it be easier with all that hot air up there, deserter." 

Espio glowered over shaky breaths as he sat up. "Step off! You should have run," he wheezed, trying hard to keep strong and conscious from their latest spat. The croc didn't answer. He didn't need to justify his actions, or his beliefs. 

Both males had spoken their minds and dealt their blows. Now the game was a waiting one - to see who would buckle first. 

Vector finally asked, in a hushed tone, "How is 'e?" Espio nursed his throat and shot a dirty look his way. 

"What? You think the kid still cries when you go to jail? First thing he asked when we got back was _'can I sleep on Vector's couch tonight?'_ He was so calm about everything I could have shoved a crayon up his nose and he wouldn't care." 

Vector leveled an accusing glare. 

"Oh get stuffed - I'm only saying it! … Though the little bugger might do it himself if you don't watch him." 

Vector chuckled at the image, and behind his natural scow, Espio made a pleasant grunt. Egos and arguments dealt with, the croc changed the subject. "Got yer deck?" 

A sly grin from Espio, who snapped his thumb and summoned a deck of playing cards to fan out between his fast fingers. 

Bedazzled, Vector gave a disbelieving blink while Espio flicked down the cards with the speed of a professional dealer working the tables of a Las Adrianna casino. "S'there anythin' yeh can't keep in those gloves?" 

"Money, apparently." 

Vector found his hand of cards made a very ineffective cover to hide behind. "Uh, any jobs while I was away?" 

Espio's prehensile tail flicked through the papers dumped to the floor and produced a five-note bill. "Pity money. Old Lady Dolores downstairs asked Charmy to carry in her groceries. She bought _watermelon,_ Vector. Five-pound bowing balls dressed up like fruit! I swear the kid's shoulders popped out, puling that thing up the front steps." 

Chameleon's run of five beat Vector's two pairs. They played another hand, and Vector picked up on the tension - Espio was waiting for something. 

He fished up the scrunched tabloid. "I might have somethin' 'ere." 

Espio raised the Daily Spooner to the moonlight, and notched his squint up to a scowl. This was his _You can't be serious!_ scowl. 

"The guy sez nothin' was stolen," Vector clarified. "All that means wuz he couldn't figure out what wuz missin'. Or maybe he's too afraid - maybe it's a ransom case, or…" 

The horned chameleon slapped his cards down, hopped off his seat and fished through the wastebasket with a bloodshot twitch to his eyes. He rescued a crumpled letter, cleared his throat and began a mocking dictation. 

_Deaw Mistuh Chaotix, _

My name is Mia. I am fow yeaws owd.   
I lost my chao an I don't know where he is. His name is Rufus, an I'm scawed I'wll never see him again.   
My mommy says you help people when thew in twoble. 

Please help, 

Mia. 

Their eyes met, thoughtful cinnamon against a venomous amber poison. Vector steepled his fingers and reflected carefully under the throb of the ceiling fan. 

"I'm busy t'morrow. You'll hafta take the case." 

Outrage did not belong in the chameleon's character. He could be pushed and baited however subtly or outright openly and still every impulse to burst and yell would be swallowed in and recycled in a calm, murderous growl. 

"Durrrr…" he hissed, trailing off into wisps of exhaled air. "I threw out _three_ of these distress calls from pre-schoolers this _weekend!_" he snarled, hard but unshaken. "And I realized something: we can't throw them out. They're our bread and butter. We're living one day to the next off some pigtailed snot's milk money!" 

"Word o' mouth advertising," Vector offered. "We're current, we're known." 

"Do they let you read _real_ newspapers in the drunk tank? Let me clue you in on the big scoop: Local Idiot Screws-Up Guardian Operation!" 

"Front page?" 

"Big picture of you with the censored-eye treatment. They had maybe five lines of write-up - very vague about what you busted - but as usual, _your_ greatest achievement is making us look like total fools!" 

His eyes hung very heavy and tired right now. "What's the point, Espio?" 

"Are you happy - living here in this dumpster? Taking all these bottom feeder cases?" 

"There's more teh life than fancy houses." 

"Yeah - there's CD players and stereo systems and food, you jughead! And while you're off having free steak at the stationhouse, I'm filling up a tab at the corner store and digging through couches for change so I can get you back! 

"We're nobodies, Vector! Poor, idiot nobodies! Who's going to hire us after that mess you made at the docks?" 

"Oh? Three calls - sounds like plenty o' work teh me." 

"I'm saying we need to go after the big fish! The coffers are empty; the whole city is laughing at us, and I'm wasting my time running around, digging through animal shelters for lost chao! We need …" he waved his hands, "_something!_ Something spectacular! A comeback! I want to hear from you - where's our big case?" 

Vector just tapped the newspaper, unwavering in his plans. "Yeh need ta relax, Esp. Something'll turn up." 

"Yeah, and you'll turn it into another charity case. We should be cracking real crimes! Why do you even bother with these kiddies and single-mom pukes?" 

There was no hesitation to answer, no pause to fidget. Vector stood up, towering over the little lizard. "Because we're here ta help people!" 

Espio just stood there while Vector's nostrils hissed over him like steaming geysers. This was a particular chunky lump of anger to bottle back and it took a great effort of fist clenching and teeth-grinding to overcome. 

He finally threw his horned face away with a long, hissing "durrrrr…." slipping in what sounded like _boy scout!_

The crocodile inspected Espio's discarded letter, written on crinkled, blue-line paper with a crumbly purple crayon. 

"She writes better than teh kid," he noted. "How old is…" 

"Six." 

"Oh." 

The ceiling fan hummed. 

"Most kids are in school by age six," Espio whispered. 

"An' how old 'till most kids drop out?" It was a low blow, but Vector was cranky and tired. Espio skulked for the shadows. 

The croc leaned back, debating over droopy eyelids whether he should clean the mess he'd spilled. It occurred to him that he could not discern the mess recently spilled from the mess he lived in regularly. 

He looked over the contents of the office - equipment lockers scrounged up while exploring an old warehouse; patchy couch rescued from a garbage dumpster; amputee coffee table with limb cast in duct tape. Strewn about the shoddy furniture were boxes upon boxes of junk - a clutter of equipment, files and excess articles forced into this semblance of storage because unpacking was impossible in this cubbyhole apartment. The restless items had no better home than a dumpy, cardboard box. 

Vector raised an eye at his low roof and the cracked plaster walls, pondering grimly that this apartment was the box housing Espio. 

"I assume you never heard," said the voice in the darkness. 

"Huh?" 

A satisfied little chuckle preceded the chameleon's stroll back, arms crossed smug to guard in his secret. "Ah, the mighty detective Vector - so helplessly lost for information." 

"Get teh the point, needle-nose." Vector's voice and face kept stern, but his tail showcased his giddy curiosity, tapping the floor like a sugar-buzzed metronome, hoping his wish would come true. 

A shrug. "Nothing serious," Espio said in his perpetual dullness. "The night after your job on the docks, there was a fire at the Museum of Natural Sciences. An entire exhibit room was scorched." 

"And?" Vector pressed, sensing something big dangled on the end of this line. 

"That's it," Espio restated. "A fire. The museum's closed for repairs, and collectors are moaning about having their loaned stuff returned." 

Vector was not letting go of this hook. Even if Espio could stiffen back his clever grin, he couldn't stop his self-satisfied skin from glowing with electric magenta. "AND? What else happened that night?" 

Espio hopped on the desk and leaned in close, smile cracking and pigments lighting up like neon lettering. "The Hoverpods went _nuts!_" 

Lazy eyes exploded with adrenaline. "Are you sayin'…" 

Espio grinned, relishing the attention of a storyteller. "Vector, you should have been there - I swore we were going to war! Late at night - one-thirty, maybe. It's quiet; we're resting. And all of a sudden some wacko puts a megaphone up to that prop-fan purr and cranks the sound up to eleven! My eardrums were gonna burst! 

"Charmy woke up, the neighbours woke up. I swear every light in the city flicked on; there was a face staring out every window! We ran outside, with pretty much everybody else. I grabbed the kid and went to the roof for a look…" 

Vector's tail tapped in overdrive. 

"Those robots were dropping out of the sky like rain; all of them, buzzing around the museum like this living cloud of gnats, these - these hundreds of vultures swooping down on a carcass. 

"I ran there fast as I could. The kid followed me. The hoverpods netted the whole area off, blocked the crowds; zapped anyone who tried to get close. The museum's front doors were blown off, like a back-draft threw them off their hinges. The windows were shattered, the alarms screamed … but no smoke. No fire engines. 

"Then all these black cars and camo-paint trucks start pulling up. Soldiers pour out, start moving the crowds back while squads rush inside. Vector, they flew in those green walkers for security! Twelve foot, missile-launching mech-walkers! I swore they were setting up for some invasion or a street war!" 

"This was in the paper?" 

"Back-page news, interestingly enough." Espio handed over a gazette, sporting a minor blurb about a fire, and how quick-thinking Hoverpods had averted any spread with flame-retardant foam-guns. Vector nearly ate the paper over that last cheer for robots. 

"They've still got agents combing over the inside. Hoverpods at every door and exit. Any photographer that gets close has their camera confiscated; no one's even seen what the inside looks like." 

Vector smiled. "But we know what happened, don't we?" The croc didn't need confirmation. Already he was peeling the article from the newspaper and marching to the bulletin board, looking for a tack. Espio offered a knife, and Vector stabbed the paper in with the collection. 

"Our mystery thief strikes again." 

He stepped back and admired his handiwork. Five prior robberies - at banks, at storage warehouses - the locations and city were variable. Sometimes the crime was subtle - nothing disturbed or scattered, not even the dust on the locks - and it took days before workers noticed something missing. Other times a vault door was ripped off its hinges and tossed to the floor like the lid peeled off a can of tuna fish. But all of the incidents had two suspiciously linking motifs. 

One: minor, low-key targets. Sacks of money were overlooked for singular deposit-boxes or safes. 

Two: The crime-scene investigations were always commandeered by the Guardians of the United Nation. 

"Now this is the kind of case we should focus on," Espio declared. "Wouldn't you just love to figure who's got G.U.N. so ticked they drop an army every time a purse gets snatched?" 

"You know who gets my vote." 

Espio's growl was a particularly long one. _"Him,"_ hissed the chameleon, conditioned by media and his own personal vendetta to whisper the name in italics. 

"Right. An' _He's_ one nut I'll gladly defer teh those robot-lovin' copycats runnin' the show." 

"But we're still following the case," Espio interjected. "Right?" 

Vector shook his head. "I told ya, I'm busy t'marrow; gonna check out Alien boy. An' besides, - even camouflage ain't gettin' a sneak like you past Hoverpods." Espio turned a furious shade of char black. 

The green gator yawned and made for the doors. "Ahm tired; gotta clock out. Night, Esp." 

"Goodnight," Espio replied tersely, eyes lingering at the bulletin board with the focused silence of a warrior sizing up an opponent. 

Vector shrugged and moved to the front room and the only couch long enough to make a comfortable cot. The springs gave way to his weight and dug into his back. _Life inside a cardboard box,_ he sighed. 

He was not alone. Eyes adjusted to the dimness, he spied the little honeybee snuggled up inside a shoebox softened with bubble-wrap, draped under a dirty dishrag blanket. Charmy clung to a crumbling old colouring book in lieu of a plush toy. 

Vector frowned over the content picture of sleep. The kid looked so at ease; so at home. He wondered why that bothered him so. 

With one last shrug for the evening, Vector straightened out Charmy's blankets, removed the crayon obstructing the kid's left nostril and settled down to sleep. 

**

--------------------------

**


	3. I: The Mystery Of The Phantom Thief

"Didja get ta wear hand-cuffs, an – an those orange pajamas with the numbers on 'em?" 

"Nope." 

"Well did they make ya wear a muzzle or – or a straight-jacket, an, an they rolled you around on a cart, all tied up?" 

"Nope." 

Charmy gave it one last try. "Did they pepper-spray ya?" 

Vector's snout flopped over in a frown, wondering what manic stories Espio had fed the kid. "No! I went down inda back of a squad car and sat in a cell. That's it!" 

The honeybee drooped his antenna in a pout. "Didn't you do _anything_ fun?" 

"I left. How's that, kiddo?" 

A new morning found Charmy Bee more high-strung and excitable than usual, and the honeybee hadn't snuck even one sip of jitter-inducing coffee. A surprise had awaited his rise from slumber that day, and discovering the big, green crocodile passed out on the couch was to Charmy like fastening his wide eyes on a big and brightly wrapped birthday present. He hadn't left Vector alone since pouncing on the croc's stomach like a cannonball, whooping out a cheerful cry of "Yay! Vecter's back! Vecter's back!" 

"Hey Vecter – If you go ta jail again, will they put you in the Eclectic chair?" 

Before he could correct the kid (_electric_ chair!), a hallway door interrupted, popping open like a spring. "Charmy? Do mah ears deceive me? Is that Charmy Bee?" Old Lady Dolores – human, or giant purple prune, Vector could never tell – plunged out of her apartment, squinting through telescopic bifocals and smiling like it was a privilege to be fifty-bazillion years old. 

Charmy didn't have to fake any peppy smiles on this encounter. "Hi Missez Old Lady Dolores! Guess what – Vecter's Back! They let'm outta jail!" 

The grandmother's smile was like a bubble pricked by a pin. "Oh… how nice, how nice," she nodded, stepping into the hallway and bumping Vector aside. "And what about you, dear? Everything fine? Not eating too much, are you?" 

"No, Missez Old Lady Dolores," recited Charmy. 

She smiled, both with mouth and her collection of wrinkles. "Wonderful to hear, deary! Don't want to get too chubby, do we?" she prattled, finally acknowledging Vector with an evil eye. 

The croc rolled his eyes and pumped up the volume of his headphones. Old Lady Dolores believed with all the firmness and zeal of an organized religion that Vector kept the honeybee around to fatten up and eat. 

"Now don't you sneak away yet!" the old grandmother sang, noting Charmy's finicky hovering, and fetching a tray of treats. "Here – have one of my special non-fat, carbohydrate-free laxative cookies. I baked them just for you, sweet-pea." 

**……….**

Once outside on the hot, dusty concrete, Charmy wasted no time spitting out his bite of cookie with a vocal "Yech!" Vector chuckled along, scoping out the passing drifters and teens hanging about the tenements, ambling around the curbs to escape their claustrophobically small apartments. 

A shifty black cat leaning on the apartment stoop cocked his head over at the exiting Vector; then Charmy, buzzing around the croc's shoulder, and hollered with a sneering voice, "Hey crocodile! No pets allowed inside!" 

Shade – the creep from across the hall. Vector gave a throaty growl. "Bug off, hairball!" 

The cat was mighty pleased with himself, able to annoy the crocodile so. "Temper, now! I'm just tryin'a keep you outta trouble, _detective_. Police, Guardians; you don't need animal services on your case!" 

Vector loosed another warning growl, bearing a bit of teeth this time. 

Shade cocked his eyes and backed away. "Fine, fine; I'll leave you to your criminal ways, _detective_. Just don't forget a leash when you take him for his walk!" The cat retreated a few steps and re-immersed himself in filing his nails while Charmy giggled, assuming the names and threats all a game, diluted in tension. 

Vector gave a victorious snort, but his eyes wandered awkwardly around the street, noticing the stolen glances and scandalous stares coming his way. Suddenly he could feel the whole neighbourhood watching him like he was a trashy celebrity. Blast, why couldn't their success stories spread as quickly as the bungling? 

He ignored everyone, leaning against the brick and burying his snout in his copy of the _Spooner_, trying to be just another loitering tenant escaping the confines of home. Charmy buzzed about him like a gnat. "Hey Vecter, what did they feed ya at the station this time?" 

"I dunno – some stew, or somethin'." 

Charmy's wings hummed a little faster. "Beef stew?" 

Vector just wanted all the prying eyes off his case. "Yeah, sure, beef stew." He picked a random, angry editorial and tuned out further interrogations. 

_  
The infantile prattling of this country sickens and offends me. _

Yeah, you know who you are: all you grumblers and naysayers whining about how noisy the skies are with the constant robot patrols, or how our military saviors press the country under a dictator's stranglehold. 

Oh please. 

Haven't the brave men and women of our military suffered enough? Haven't these heroes suffered the greatest of us all, losing their family and friends at the destruction of Prison Island? Do I need to tell you morons how many thousands died there in an instant? 

Maybe I do, because all you babies are so upset with the way G.U.N. has handled the crisis stemming from the ARK Incident._ Let me tell you: since the Guardians were granted emergency powers, this country has never been better. _

Just two days after deploying Hoverpods above our cities, all rioting and destruction of property forcibly ceased. 

After one week of unhindered tracking, The Doctor's_ black hedgehog accomplice was pressed from hiding. The scum was killed, resisting arrest. Later, a terrorist outpost in the desert was uncovered and firebombed. _

After two weeks of thankless labor, military task forces declared the ARK's_ recently installed super-weaponry defunct, and _The Doctor's_ recently-armored space station no longer any threat to our safety. _

After one month of hard chase, G.U.N. apprehended and incarcerated the traitor known as Rouge. An ordinary citizen to her friends and family, this woman was in fact a long-time lieutenant to The Doctor_, and a key player to _His_ success with the _ARK Incident._ Thanks to her arrest, the mechanical empire to our north has been seriously crippled. _

After two months of vigilant defense, a towering enemy factory and covert airfield in the rainforest were discovered and dissected of technology and resources, bringing us one step closer to victory over The Terrorist.

And after four months of enduring criticism, G.U.N. has defied critics and successful restored peace and prosperity to the provinces – eliminating hidden enemy bases and sealing away covert spies. Thanks to the Guardians, this world is once more a safer place for you and your children. 

So think about that next time you start heckling our armed forces. Because when it comes to your selfish and infantile whining, I am offended. 

written by Sam Whan 

Vector crumpled the paper and let it fly like a tumbleweed. "Blech!" he declared, taking a quick swig of coffee from his water bottle to sanitize his throat. He felt dirty just reading that smutty propaganda. Where'd the Guardians crawl off to during the _Great Chaos_, the destruction of Station Square? Oh, and the offenses he knew stretched back further… 

A little body plowed into his back like a squishy battering ram. "Vecter, yer not listening!" pouted Charmy, alternately pushing and pulling the croc's shoulder for attention. 

"What now, kiddo?" 

"Do aliens eat people?" 

"Look kid, there ain't no aliens! The newspapers 're just makin' fun of the guy." 

"Oh," he nodded, disappointed. Charmy shut up and thought for a while, and Vector took the chance to down the rest of his coffee, weak and sludgy and made from beans recycled over three weeks. 

Charmy hovered up to face level and, jumping from random topic to random topic the way only the hyperkinetic juvenile mind could, declared, "Vecter, when I grow up, I'm gonna go ta jail!" 

Vector choked and spewed out his coffee, certain that his heart valves all simultaneously gagged on their latest pump of blood. "WHAT?" 

"It'd be so cool!" Charmy explained. "You guys get your own beds and there's TV and you get to eat all this yummy food like chicken an' stew an mashed-up-tatoes!" 

Vector's brain was shot. He couldn't speak. His jaw flapped open-close like a fish gagging silently out of water, trying to find something to say. "W-w-we eat well don't we?" he said hastily in defense. "I mean, don't you like chao food?" 

Charmy wrinkled his nose and gave the ugliest little pout imaginable. "Chao food sucks!" 

Vector swore his eyes would pop out. "Excuse me?" 

Charmy startled. "What?" he asked innocently enough. 

"Don't play games with me! Where d'ya learn that word?" 

The honeybee gave an innocent shrug. "You." He pinched his nose and mumbled his lowest possible imitation. _"Oy hate chao food! Chao food sucks! If I 'ave ta eat dis gahbage one more time, I'll eat Espio!"_

Vector didn't believe his eyes could gape any wider, but they kept on stretching. Bouts of anger and disgust over their eating arrangements returned in flashes of guilt, but … But he'd never imagined crazy little Charmy, whose attention raced a mile a minute, actually listening to anything he said! His body temperature dropped a chilling ten degrees, fearing just what else the kid might have picked up. 

Right now, the little bee giggled fiercely at all the stuttering expressions coming from his superior. Vector shook his face clear, hastening to prepare a speech. 

"Okay, so, uh, I guess I did use that word before." He coughed and grew firm. "But you ain't allowed to say that any more!" 

It was Charmy's turn to jump with disbelief. "What? How come?" 

_Good point_. Vector was at a loss. "Because uh … umm … because I said so!" 

Charmy squinted as though a thick fog separated them, the mechanisms behind his child mind clearly failing to understand the concept. "That sucks," he grumbled, and spun around to fly away. 

Vector nabbed his ankle, but not to enforce any language censorship. Something shiny dangled from the kid's jacket pocket. "Whadda ya got there?" he asked suspiciously, pulling the squirming bee into range and plucking out a laminated card. 

**

G.U.N.

**   
Guaridans of the United Na…. 

Dying of shock would have been a mercy right about then. Instead, he got to live, and endure this horrible impossibility. He dropped his hand, fixing a stupefied glower on Charmy. "You – you liddle kleptomaniac! You took this from that spy at the pier! You – you…" 

Charmy looked at him thoughtfully. "What's a skepto-zani-ack?" 

Vector gripped his head and tore at his phantom scalp line, ticking down the seconds before he burst. Three … Two … One … "GAH!" Screaming to high-Heaven, he thundered back into the apartment, shaking the sidewalk with his earthquake stomps. 

Charmy gave a few blinks, shrugged and wrote it off as _grown-up stuff._ He buzzed off into the sky to find something fun to do. 

**……….**

The apartment door blew open with a crash. Stomping, then another thunderous slam as Vector exploded into the office with a glare that could ignite fires. A lesser chameleon might have jumped up, or even turned a head to acknowledge. Espio just kept his face down, pretending to read some business papers and soaking up what time he could enjoy borrowing Vector's chair. 

A small object whizzed for his head. Espio shot up a hand and snapped up the ID card between two fingers. "And this is?" 

Twin fists of rage rattled the desk and a furious face bent down to stare him in the eyes. "Look at it, y'idiot! That's military property! The kid's been holdin' onta that thing all weekend, and you didn't notice? That's like stealin' a police badge!" 

Espio glanced at the card, and Derek Smithson's harsh face. "So why are you giving it to me?" 

"So you can get rid've it! You brought down this mess, you clean it up!" 

"Mission parameters?" 

"Don't get smart wit me! Chop it up, burn it, mail it back anonymous! Just don't let me see that thing again! Fer all we know, it's got some homing beacon inside an' we'll have robots breakin' down our door any minute!" 

Clearly overheated by the whole ordeal, the crocodile retreated to drain the water cooler. He then ran the obstacle course of boxes to rummage through his equipment locker. Espio did not even raise an eye past his phony paperwork. 

"Landlord stopped by," he grunted, the reasons obvious. "How is it that we live in a crumbling stink-hole and still can't pay the rent?" 

Vector slammed his locker shut, donning a black designer jacket (with tassels and a flame design) and a fresh set of headphones. "You gonna sit there an' point fingers?" growled the croc as he flipped through his massive CD collection, "Or you gonna find some work an' help out?" He popped the new disc in and retreated to stereophonic nirvana. 

"I'm gone. An' get ridda that card!" 

The doors slammed with a bang. 

"Drrrr …" Espio reached for the drawer to recover Charmy's video-game console, but the military identification card intercepted his route. He picked it up, looking impassively at the laminated mouse that had made the elephant Vector shriek and boom with such a violent panic. 

The chameleon grunted and let his thoughts meander over the quickest method of disposal, when his mouth suddenly curled in a roguish smirk. 

A very delicious idea had just come to mind… 

**

--------------------------

**

Vector could not keep his mind off Charmy. His thoughts chewed over the honeybee's confessions, lingering over the words and looking to taste the root cause. Here it was: The kid didn't know any better. 

The bus bumped over a pothole, on route to bustle him across the city to his unsuspecting client, but Vector could not be shaken from his serous contemplations. Charmy was just a kid. At five … no, no – six; six years old, he was still seeing the world for the first time. Everything he took in, his underdeveloped mind accepted as natural. 

Natural. Huh, that meant normal people slept, ate and lived out of their workplace. Normal people spent their weekends in jail when they stood up for the little guy. Normal people pummeled shiftless, stuck-up worms like Espio when those stinkers couldn't look down their proverbial noses and follow orders. 

Always, his mind returned to Charmy, sleeping so contently in his normal home, and the picture of ease and adjustment nagged at his brain while the bus loaded onto the concrete slab of a ferry and shuttled across the Corvalis harbor. While every other passenger gawked at the construction ships hauling debris from the bay and stringing new support cables over the firebombed Centennial Bridge, his gloved fingers dug trenches through his agitated skin, wondering what was to be done. 

After the detour for reconstruction shipped him back on solid land and the bus dumped him off at his stop, Vector finally threw his hands up and threw the problem away. "Laiter!" he growled to no one in particular, delegating Charmy to procrastination. All this worry about the kid made him uncomfortable. 

The nostrils on the end of his impressive snout twitched, and Vector traced the scent back to a fast food outlet. "Oh yes!" he moaned wearily, as though a cool compress had been applied to his headache. Food – just what he needed! 

A slight hesitation took place as his paw reached for his wallet, but Vector shrugged it off. They weren't _that_ bad off; besides, he couldn't work on an empty stomach! 

Vector exited with a greasy burger in one hand and a milkshake in the other, the lifted weight of his wallet soon to be transferred to a happy gullet. He walked the remainder of his journey, savoring the bites of beef and dreaming wistfully of the day he'd reel in a jackpot paycheck. Showered in wealth and money, he'd buy _two_ burgers on every impulse snack and jumbo-size his drinks. 

Finally, his destination towered into view – a luxurious, high-rise apartment named _The Fairgrove._ He grinned knowingly, already planning his retort to Espio. Vector made for the entrance, grooving to the rhythm of his own internal audio. 

Vector scanned the room roster and buzzed the appropriate tenant. A broken voice crackled over the intercom with a harsh "What?" 

"Mornin' sir; I saw yer article in the _Spooner_ an' I was wunderin' if …" 

The tenant hit the call button so sharply that it sent a squeal of distortion over the intercom. "Go away!" 

Vector retreated, slightly miffed. _Humph, touchy subject. Ah well._ He folded his arms and waited against the brick wall (all the time ignoring the shocked double takes from passing mammals and humans) for a tenant to exit so he could sneak inside. 

The lobby was built around a tropical theme, with a lake-sized water fountain surrounded by imitation palm trees and exotic plant life. Vector nodded appreciatively, and took the glass elevator up to the fifteenth floor, where he gave a civil little tap on the designated door. 

A long hesitation followed, dotted with hesitant muttering and shuffling. Finally, locks and tumblers fell out of place for an odd minute or so, and the door opened a tentative halfway, just enough for a suspicious green eye and a stubby human nose to poke through. 

The eyebrow popped up in exclamation, confused over the visitor: a madly grinning hulk of a reptile dressed in a mismatched collection of leather, jewelry and electronics like a patchwork gown. 

"Who – who goes there?" the man asked with a hint of nervousness behind his formal speech. 

Vector removed his headphones in a gesture of respect (a twitch of baldness tickled his scaly scalp), straightened up his hunched back and switched to his polite voice. 

"Excuse me sir," he began, an octave above his usual range and several social classes above his rough jersey dialect. "I was wondering if I could ask you something. Are you the man who reported the home invasion three nights before?" 

The door opened hesitantly, but only so the occupant could get a better look at the hall behind his visitor. A spiky-haired twenty-something, pale as milk, stuck his head and fingers around the edge, flickering his uneasy green eyes past Vector. 

"The paper?" he stuttered. "Yeah … maybe…" 

The human kept searching and scanning. "Then you're Cid Wheeler," Vector stated. 

A business card exchanged hands. "My name is Vector. I'm from the Chaotix Detective Agency. The papers tell me the police dismissed your case as bunk, but I'm interested in…" 

"This is a napkin," Cid interjected, casting a dubious look at the card in his fingers, which flopped over like a dead flower. 

The crocodile tilted his head to the side, showcasing the full dazzle of his roguish grin. "Correct! Agency policy – we only use one-hundred percent recycled paper!" 

A smirk. An honest smirk, followed by a small chuckle. "… recycled. Good one," the human nodded, relaxing his guard on the door. 

Vector's own grin widened. His eyes, his jaws; his entire body was built for expression and emotion. Sure, most mammals only thought of his capacities for displaying rage, but Vector could be ever the charmer if he needed, cinnamon eye relaxing with earnest interest, and toothy smile beaming out complete confidence. He was a born shyster if there ever was one, and no man or woman could resist his magnetic personality. 

"So … _Chaotix_," Cid muttered, mind in retreat. "Hey, aren't you the guy who…" 

"No!" Vector barked, almost losing his cool. "The guy from the docks was uh … _Victor_. Yeah, Victor the Alligator. No relation." 

"… oh. Because I'm sure you…" 

_"No relation."_

"Ah…" 

Vector cleared his throat. "Well, let's begin with why I'm here. I'm interested in investigating your case, Cid. Now, if money is an issue, that's not a problem. We can work something out. I read the papers and …" 

The human groaned and scrunched up his face. "Oh great! You probably think I'm crazy too. Look, I never meant for the story to come out that way. A reporter tailed the cops I called and … well, I was all rushed up; I couldn't refuse the interview … But look, what they wrote…" 

"Was absolute trash!" Vector finished, picking up on the distress. "Aliens teleporting into your apartment! Absurd!" 

Cid's eyes sparkled with trust for this sympathetic ear. "Exactly! Alien invasions! Do you know how stupid that is?" 

"Not as stupid as their editorialists. Have you read the _Spooner_? All that paper's good for is clogging my toilet bowl!" 

That got Cid laughing. Or rather, snorting. He had to steady himself on the door and slap Vector's shoulder for support. Vector tried not to flinch or pull away but … well, yuck! Who knew what that clammy hand had touched? He'd be a famous detective indeed if he could ever solve the mystery of why humans felt so sanitary, touching each other without the common decorum of gloves! 

Presently, Cid nodded, coming to the tail end of his guffaws. "Yeah … _aliens_!" He gave one last teary sigh, and added, "It was really a ghost." 

It was Vector's turn to hoot. "Ha! Yer a gas, buddy!" 

Cid puckered his lips in a sour frown. "I'm not joking." 

Vector's magnificently expressive face melted like candle wax. "Yer serious?" 

Cid shook his head. "Listen, I've been a Level Six Lord of the Dead in my RPG group almost a year now. I do my research, and I know a Blade Wraith when I see one." 

Vector's face paled further and further, imagining the laughs he'd get for interviewing this closet geek. Espio would never let him live this one down. 

The human now bowed his head in a sigh and (wait … would he?) Yes! He handed back the business card! He realized what a fool he was! Vector's heart leapt, and boogied with a stereo system of its own! 

Cid mumbled his apology. "Look, I'm sorry you came out here for nothing, but the spirits of this world live – by necessity – in mystery and shadow. I'm afraid that if I hired you to uncover the purpose of their visitation, I would only be putting your own life in jeopardy. And I respect the Netherworld too much to risk its ire. I'm sorry, Mr. Crocodile, but I can't accept your services." 

And he said it all with a straight face. Now, Vector was just plain creeped out! He stuttered over an exit line, back in his blunt jersey. "Yeah, well, uh, I gadda go then…" 

"No wait!" Cid latched on to his elbow. "As a disciple of the High Code of the Woodland Elves, I would bring shame to myself if I let you leave empty-handed! You must be weary from your travels. Please, come in – we can have some Cheetos and Mountain Dew!" 

Reluctantly, and _very_ reluctantly, Vector let himself be dragged inside, tail dead and scraping across the floor like a prisoner bound in chains. Even Charmy would be snorting now! 

Once inside, he found it impossible to stiffen his melting, or to believe that the human had a plus-5 ability modifier to his intelligence score. "So uh, you _sure_ that ghost didn't steal nothin'?" 

The expensive loft was one long, empty room of hardwood floor and whitewash plaster with the imprints of missing furniture. A mattress lay on the floor and a lonely desk - centerpoint on the long wall - served as a computer terminal cluttered with wires and cables. Otherwise, the room was picked clean. 

"Oh, this?" remarked Cid, waking over with two cans of poisonously green cola. "Nah. This is what I've got. I'm a Systems Programmer for the local _Hexa_eco branch; this place came with my contract. It's great, isn't it? I've got all this open space to practice my swordplay for the next renaissance fair!" 

Vector observed an umbrella bin in the corner, housing a two-handed broadsword. "Uh, yeah, but whadda 'bout foiniture?" 

"Oh. Well, I buy my food fresh daily; I call my friends by e-mail. … I guess I don't need much to get by." 

Vector felt favorable opinions warming his smile. "Cid buddy, yer all right!" Here was a fellow man that understood his life philosophy! Happiness lay with the simple indulgences of life – That first bite into a burger dripping in grease; cushiony recliners you melted into like butter; and music – the all-consuming audio Eden! 

Swigging from his drink, Vector admired his profile in the bedside wall, coated down its entire length with floor-to-ceiling mirrors. "Interestin' design. Those come standard, or didja install 'em?" 

Cid snorted. "Naw, that wall was there when I moved in a few months back. The last tenant put those in." He chuckled. "Can you imagine the ego on that mouse? The rat must have been a total narcissist! I think he put in the trap door too." 

Vector's eyes rose curiously. "Trap door?" 

"Yeah – someone cut out the floorboards in the closet so there's a little cubby hole. The army guys found that while they searched the place." 

_Stop the music._ "Did you say…" 

"Yeah, it was weird. Couple hours after I phoned the police, this guy in black shows up with some infantry and a hoverpod, flashing a search warrant. They pulled me out and combed over the apartment! It was … Hey! What are you doing?" 

Vector had stormed over to the closet. With a predator's hunger he threw open the doors and knelt to inspect the floor. There lay the hole with lid cast aside, pink insulation foam at its bottom. ("I think there was a metal tray down there, but the army guys took it," Cid explained.) 

Vector examined the lid of planks, obviously cut with the care of a power tool. He pushed the top of the compartment into place, and the secret box in the floor was covered so perfectly that the edges disappeared into the hardwood design. Only a trained eye and a sharp nail could pick open the hidden vault. 

Standing up, a new seriousness gleamed in Vector's eyes, frightening Cid with their intensity. 

"You tell me everything that happened that night." 

**……….**

Sifting through Cid's half-crazed stories of ghosts melting through his walls took time, effort and a tremendous dosage of patience. The kid seriously believed that spirits of a nether realm had paid a visitation three nights back; there was no shaking his conviction. 

When Vector tried to suggest that an actual person had invaded his loft – he let Cid process this: an actual, flesh-and-blood person wanting to hurt him and take his possessions – the kid wobbled over and fainted. Vector gave him a little time-out and let the testimony proceed, all the while scribbling in his notepad a less fantastic interpretation of the alien/ghost invasion. 

The robbery took place Friday evening, near midnight, while Vector had been detained at the stationhouse, and as Cid returned home early from his weekly RPG session. 

The thief had come through the window – because the lobby security cameras recorded no one but Cid entering within the last hour, a key factor in the police dismissal of the case. Even then, it would have been a hard sell – no sign of forced entry evidenced on the window. Not one fingerprint, not one glove thread. Vector was familiar with the professional, ghost-like conduct. 

Cid entered at about twelve-oh-five, leaving the lights off and planning to crash on his sleeping mattress right away. 

Something stopped him, though. He felt a prick of cold air. 

He might have dismissed it as air conditioning or wind, only the window remained closed and the ventilation deathly silent. 

Sleep left Cid Wheeler, and he decided to log-on to his computer, ever paranoid of a heaviness at his back. 

"It was a Cold Aura," Cid explained. "Spirits cast them wherever they travel, as a warning to the mortals near." He frowned and shook his head in self-pity. "I should have known! I should have been more careful!" 

Lights only caused glare on his screen, so he kept the apartment dark, crouched at his terminal with headset blaring. A black wraith glided through the walls, vaporous underneath its swirling cloak, earthly barriers no more than air to the … 

"HOLD IT!" Vector took a deep breath. "What's a _cold aura_?" 

Cid struggled to explain. "It's … it's a _feeling_, I guess. Spirits are invisible to our senses, but … Okay, look. A blade wraith is invisible, intangible; cannot be seen or heard unless they want you to sense them. (And the only time that happens is before they draw out your soul, but anyway,) it's that elusiveness that creates a Cold Aura. 

"A Cold Aura it's … it's that creeping fear you get when you feel someone's sneaking up on you. When you're in a crowded place, it's that laser eye you sense digging into your back. A feeling of cold and heaviness. It's intuition manifesting in physical senses – a warning that something bad is going to happen." 

And Cid felt all those evil intuitions shivering up his spine as the interrupted cat burglar glided up behind. 

He saw it. In the instant before the attack, Cid spotted the burglar's reflection on his monitor. Before a cold hand struck his head and the world faded. 

"I … I'm still foggy," Cid shivered, rubbing the bump on his scalp. "But I remember the eyes. I don't know how anyone could miss those eyes – they were like knives staring me down. Blood red orbs full of madness. … And the claws. Bony claws reaching for me, cold and … Mr. Vector, are you all right?" 

_Red eyes … skeletal claws._ Vector had let his memory drift and he made a sharp flinching motion. "Something the matter?" Cid pressed. 

"Nothing," he growled back. Even a kid who believed in ghosts wouldn't swallow his story. He flipped over his notepad and moved to summarize. "Okay, when you woke up, you panicked and called the manager and the police. They uh … didn't believe in ghosts and tossed the story out. Tabloid reporter came; Guardians came. … Their leader, the guy in black - you said he had long hair – did he wear glasses?" 

"Half-moon spectacles. How'd you know?" 

Vector grinned and cracked his knuckles. "We've met before." 

Now they had reached the end, and the time of parting had come. "Do you believe my story, Mr. Vector? I mean … I know I might sound kinda weird but…" 

Vector shone one of his sympathetic smiles, and the kid hushed up instantly . "I believe you believe it." 

"Thanks … I think." 

"Yeah." With a forced calmness, Vector rose from his seat and offered his thanks while his tail wagged with a need for release. "Well, I'd better get goin'. I know yeh don't want the case followed up, but thanks fer sharin' the story." 

Cid shrugged and moved to dump their cola cans in the garbage. "Yeah, well I'm just relieved someone believes me. … Mr. Vector?" The crocodile, antsy and eager to follow up his lead, had already shown himself out. 

**……….**

He was hot; he was on fire! Before the flames of victory could smolder away, Vector rounded up the hotel manager by the lobby's water fountain. "Room 1504; I gadda ask some questions 'bout the last tenant." 

The handsomely chiseled face spared only sharp glares at the request. "Ellie? Ellie Slater? Out of the question. I'm not suffering any more harassment from you and your drones…" 

Even in his refusal, Vector nabbed crucial information – a name. This tenant out of hundreds was known personally; dialogue was crucial now. "Hold on! I ain't with the Guardians. I'm a private investigator. Here's my card." 

Another disdainful look. "This is…" 

"… a Napkin, I know, I know. I'm looking for Ellie; her family hired me to find her." He prayed the lie would break the defenses… 

The manager grew concerned. Jackpot! He took the crocodile aside. "Is she all right?" he whispered, plainly nervous. "I don't know what's happened to her, but those Guardians who came in talked like she was a criminal! Have you heard anything?" 

Everything rested on improv now. "Well sir, the sooner I can find her, the safer she'll be. I'll need your help." 

"Yes, yes, of course. Dear me – I knew Ellie; whatever's happened, I know she's innocent. I came acquainted with her after arranging some wall redecoration to her flat. Always so shy and private, running upstairs and locking herself up. Did you know she came to me and asked to discontinue all housekeeping? That little mouse didn't want anyone going near her personal space." 

"When did you last see her?" 

"Oh, four… five months ago. She'd always run off for weeks at a time (I think she was a journalist) but she always paid her rent promptly. Anyway, one, two months went by and Ellie never came back. The advance on her apartment dried up and I put her suite up for rent again. Her belongings went into storage…" 

"Suppose I could look through her things … you know, fer clues?" 

The manager threw his hands up. "Impossible. The Guardians came with a warrant to search and seize property. I had to hand over all her things." 

Vector cursed. "You didn't notice any suspicious types checking out your building recently, have you?" 

"Oh." The manager went hard and skeptical again. "You're referring to the "break-in". Let me assure you the story is rubbish. My facility has state-of-the-art security cameras in every hallway. Any intruder would have been recorded on tape. And besides, the Guardians keep us safe now. Their hoverpods would have caught the thief!" 

Vector only nodded, adding a suggestion of malice to his smile. 

The manager snorted and prattled on. " … Absolute rubbish! Nothing stolen; no signs of forced entry! That Wheeler fellow probably dreamed it up. Odd fellow … Oh, here he comes now." 

The medieval geek was indeed rushing across the lobby to meet them. "Mr. Vector!" he called out. The chaotix excused himself to meet the weirdo. 

Cid panted heavily by the time they met face to face. "I know the modifier on my Intuition skill is only plus-1," he panted, "but even if I rolled a 'one' on the dice, I'd know what you're up to." 

Vector wished the kid could keep his voice down. "You're going to hunt down the spirit that attacked me. A valiant, but foolish quest. I don't agree with your decision Mr. Vector, but as a disciple of the Mountain Dwarfs Guild, I'm obliged to wish you well on your journey." 

Vector could not have been more creeped out, even if ants were squirming up his tuckus. "Ooookay," he said, slowly and oddly. 

One last time, Cid gripped him with those clammy, uncovered hands and squeezed a firm handshake. "En Tero Adun! Go with honour, man of scales!" 

**……….**

Outside, Vector rushed for the nearest restaurant washroom so he could scrub the oils off his gloves. Then he bought another cheeseburger. 

Oddness aside, his spirits were still smoking hot. Vector pocketed his little notebook with a smile. This case had certainly brightened considerably. Now, he had a name to follow. 

Ellie Slater… 

**

--------------------------

**


	4. Penchant For Deception

Espio also had a name to follow up.

"Arya Rane. 'Bout a year ago, this rich hag loaned a collection of twenty-four small emeralds – the museum displayed 'um in their geology wing. Some sort of shlock about minerals and how crystals grow. Fourteen of those loaned emeralds are missing, and the museum'll hafta fork over some serious insurance bills if they're not returned."

Vector leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled as he listened to this very sudden report. Six o'clock and the orange sun stretched its dimming light down the blotched hardwood floor of the office in a long, tired stretch. Cheap blinds dissected the rays and cast shadows like prison bars along the crocodile's busy desk. His headphones lay still. Any moment now he expected a little tap on the window, the signal of a honeybee rushing home as a rusty sky charred to black.

He also expected some explaining.

"How'd ya figure all that out, Esp? Newspapers?"

The chameleon had dictated his findings from his fiercely guard niche at the corner of the equipment lockers, ever the image of rough attitude with his eyes shut and arms crossed. "Hmph! 'Course not," he snorted. "I walked into the museum and asked the supervising soldiers for a damage report."

Vector kept his eyelids steady at these leering remarks. Obviously the mighty _Mastah Investigator_ was offended over the suggestion that he resorted to such trite information sources.

"Radio then?" Espio only continued his introverted lounging. Vector moved on. "So Esp, this fire at the museum … a cover-up?"

Two fingers shot up like a wall to block Vector's mistake. "There was no fire," informed the sage chameleon. "That was just the cover-story to keep the sheep calm and happy. It was another break-in." He paused, skin pigments flickering in a faint shudder. "This time, something went wrong."

Vector let him continue. "Our Mystery Thief went after Rane's emeralds." The report stopped. Vector leaned his head over the desk, awaiting more.

Espio opened an eye and pushed himself out of the groove he'd contorted into the sheet-metal locker. Very suddenly, he spun away from the crocodile and hurled a dagger into the back wall. The shredded dartboard shook from the impact. Bulls-eye.

The crocodile smashed an elbow into his desk and collapsed his head into hand. He'd been eager for news, and snorted at the worn-out diversionary exercise. Same as usual: the jerk shut up, went stone-dead and immediately switched topics – too cool to care about finishing a conversation; so bad he could ignore a room full of crowded people. The motions were obvious after three years, and Vector could list a thousand-and-one means of communication when you were too proud to admit something unsettled you.

The latest blade missed centerpoint – nearly missed the dartboard – and almost imbedded into the wall. Vector winced. "D'ya hafta throw those knives?" he pleaded, very much liking his home in one piece.

"They're not knives," Espio explained, his back always to the crocodile. "They're _kunai_." For demonstration, he balanced one of the arrow-headed missiles in his palm, touching only the metal key-ring loop at the base of the hilt. "And in the hands of practiced ninja, they were essential for their light weight and versatility. These were climbing tools, a shovel, a peg, a small hammer, and in combat held the flexibility of both melee and long-range attack weapons."

A set of skeptical fingers drummed on the office desk. "You tryin' sell me steak knives? I still can't believe how fast ya memorized that whole catalogue leaflet!" Vector altered topics with a cough of his throat. "Now, 'bout this _'museum news'_," he added, doubtful of the chameleon's sources.

Espio glanced at his partner like an adult looking down on an infant. "You need it written out or somethin'? Robbery. Cover-up." Very casually, Espio stowed his latest shot back into the compartments of his wristlets. "Look, if you want we can go down there and see for yourself."

A growly laugh hooted through the office. "I _wish!_" Vector howled, collapsing in his chair. He'd sell his CD collection just to get past all those hoverpods and armed guards blockading the museum and glance at the crime scene!

With a blank boredom on his face and a casual calm in his motions, Espio plucked his trenchcoat from his locker. "Let's go," he repeated.

Vector straightened up. "Huh? Y'mean, go down teh the museum?"

A rude little snort flew from the chameleon while he donned his long, concealing coat. "Where else?"

Ego suddenly refracted into honesty. Vector shot out of his chair, suspecting the worst. "Did you bribe someone? A soldier, teh let you in?"

"No."

_Something lower. Dirtier._ Vector's imagination made him pause. "Well who told ya all this stuff then?"

Espio was falling asleep answering all these questions. "I told you: I walked into the museum and asked the supervising soldiers for a damage report."

Heartstrings gave a jerky warning twitch, but Vector ploughed into the danger-zone anyway. "An' the Guardians just let you in fer the grand tour?"

An indifferent shrug as he strolled up to lean his elbow on the desk. "Pretty much."

The bars of orange light continued their leisurely stretch. Vector finally pieced it all together and swiped his palm to slap Espio. The little creeper dodged.

"I get it now," Vector growled, managing to chuckle at his folly. "_How far can I yank the Croc's chain?_" Grim seriousness. "Quit playin' around! While you were out doin' jack, _I_ spent my day getting' a real lead on this Mystery Thief!" It was time to announce Ellie Slater.

Espio's boredom got the better of him. "I told you – I investigated the museum…"

"Y'expect me the swallow that gahbage?"

Another shrug as Espio fished around his pockets. "Why not? I just showed 'em my ID and they let me in." Out came his wallet, which he dropped open and displayed. Vector squinted and his chest constricted as the all-too familiar print returned:

**G.U.N.**  
Guardians of the United Nation:  
_Intelligence Division_

Only this time, Derek Smithson's haughty face wasn't around to cast a smug glance at his nemesis Vector. No – this time, superimposed underneath the most precise slit in the laminated material, was the cold glare of a leather-brown, pigment-camouflaged Espio the Chameleon.

"Pretty good, huh? Took the pic at one of those mall photo-shops."

Had Vector the misfortune to be a mammal, the sudden shock would have left him bald and gray in an instantaneous poof of discarded hair.

Espio was impersonating a government agent.

The Blue Screen of Death crashed his pulmonary system. Vector froze in mid-outrage – jaws wide, finger pointed, eyes blasted open – paralyzed by a pain worse then a hundred kicks below the belt while Espio compiled a mental snapshot for his collection of stories that began with _"you should have seen your face that time when…"_

Once more – just as Vector was making headway towards that shimmering tunnel of light – the world had the horrible decency to hit _alt-ctrl-delete_, and Vector rebooted.

"YOU SLIMY LIDDLE CREEPER! I TOLD YA TA GET RIDDA THAT THING!"

Espio heaved a weary sigh, impeccably calm and merely tired for a man about to have the ground ripped from under his feet. "Here we go," he droned. He could already see Vector beginning to pace back and forth.

"I don't believe this! The kid's stealin'! What's he gonna think – yer committin' identity theft like it ain't nothin' big!" Vector stopped, noticing the chameleon rolling his eyes and using a hand to parrot his flapping jaws. "You _listenin'?_"

From his calm, cross-armed stance, Espio made a dismissive snort. "Relax, Gojira! This isn't a little Mom-an-Pop corner store where everyone knows everybody. G.U.N.'s a big machine, an' everyone inside's just a name and a number. No one cares if one random guy out of a million is human or a chameleon.

"All that matters to them is what's on paper," he continued, dangling the ID card in Vector's face like a toy.

The creeper actually raised a good point. Vector softened, his opinions swayed, and admired the brilliance of the trick. "Wow," he said, truthfully astonished. "Yer right. That's pretty smart, Esp."

The bars of orange light across the floor caught Vector's gaze. Prison bars. Vector freaked. "I mean … I mean, …" he stuttered for the right words. "NO! No, no, no, no, no! This is dirty! Illegal! We're better than that!"

Espio snorted. "Oh stop being such a tightwad and thinking you're so high and humble. It was a cakewalk this afternoon. The Suits heading the investigation – they took one look at the card and I swear the worms wet themselves. All I have to do is flash the goods, and everyone bows like I'm king! Hoverpods too – once they scan the barcode they drop their guns and shut down."

Vector opened wide to yell again. Two fingers shot up and blocked the crocodile's mouth. Espio spoke with total seriousness. "No one gave me any flak – this guy is someone important, Vector." He swallowed carefully. "I think he's an Enforcer."

Vector shoved the shushing hand off his snout. "A What-Now?"

Espio shook his head once more at the infant. "An _Enforcer._ I read about them in this conspiracy-theory book. They're this secret covert-ops. program G.U.N. keeps under wraps. Enforcers work outside the system and don't kiss up to anyone but the highest-ranking commanders. They're the hands of the high councils – if a General needs something dirty done, he sends an Enforcer. These are the guys who assassinate world leaders and sabotage the Doctor."

"You talkin' 'bout that wimp I beat up at the docks?"

A snaky hiss escaped Espio's lips. "Huh! You think G.U.N. would send their best out to kidnap and torture a little kid? I read about this – Enforcers have a caste system; they're specialized for different tasks. That Suit back at the harbor was probably in one of the lower ranks, the ones who collect information and work with civilians. Now, the bad ones – they don't ever let themselves be seen. They're one-man armies and we're just lucky those Enforcers are held back for the big stuff."

The conspiracy babble was the final push. Vector thrust both his hands over the desk and nabbed Espio by the lapels of his coat, pulling him into the air.

"This is a felony!" he preached with hurricane force, thankful for his height and strength and the authority it allowed him over the deviant runt of a chameleon. "When they find ya, _partner_, you ain't even gettin' a trial! Yer just gonna disappear!"

Espio refused to struggle. He let himself hang limp, still grinning, still collected. "So I guess you don't want to see the museum?"

Vector winced through clenched jaws at the low blow. That was one mighty-temptin' apple that there snake had. Again, his eyes found the floorboards, and the pattern of dark and orange stripes like a honeybee. He immediately drew himself up, dropped the creeper and turned from Espio with snout high and untouchable.

If fazed by the moral refusal, Espio didn't show it. A hush of silence fell over the office and the divided camps, sulking and pondering. If Vector had cared to look, he might have noticed the cunning smugness illuminating Espio's skin.

"Right then, I'm gone."

Vector's determination teetered and he risked a glance at the departing creeper. "Where you goin'?"

"Museum. Gonna take one last look 'round."

"Not without me you ain't!" Thundering footsteps met Espio at the door. The chameleon glanced up for explanation.

"What? _Someone's_ gotta keep an eye on you an make sure you don't do nothin' stoopid! Lez go!"

Jacket over his shoulder, Vector barged into the hallway, congratulating himself for spotting a morally reasonable loophole through the dilemma.

Espio just smirked.

**

--------------------------

**

Any idiot tourist could have told them not to use the bronzed tramcars commuting up and down the city's sharp hillside streets. Not at this late hour, when an orange globule of sun teetered between dark skyscrapers and red sky, dribbling away like beads in an hourglass. The drop in heat could be read plainly on the scrunched up growls of two snarky reptiles, stuck with empty pockets and snails-pace transportation.

Vector played his music extra loud just to annoy Espio. The seats were too small, his tail was going numb and he wanted to know just what was going on at this museum! Not that he would admit to that last reason for his irritation.

Vector counted his one-hundredth-and-thirty-fifth palm tree lining the streets when he suddenly shot up as though poked by a needle.

He toned down his headphones and consulted with Espio. "We locked the kid out, didn't we?"

No arguments on that point. Vector slapped his stupid head with a humiliated moan.

The croc recovered quickly, though. "Too late teh go back, I guess. Meh, he'll be okay – I'll work somethin' out later." He shrugged and filed the trouble away for a later hour or date.

Espio held himself too high for passive-aggressive child's-play, but his will didn't seem strong enough to avoid scratching the metal seats with his ninja weapons, making Vector twitch between tracks with teeth-grinding pain. Mutual annoyance bounced between them like a volleyball, while faster traffic rushed by the tramcar tracks. Somewhere within the seaside metropolis, a haunting yowl like a wolf's cry sang to the setting sun.

"So, whodunit?" Vector asked, trying to make the most of his time. "Who's this burglar they're investigatin'? It's The Doc, ain't it?"

"Pff! We're not the only ones who'd like to know. Believe me, I've asked around."

"Y'mean…"

"Hoverpods aren't the only wind-up toys G.U.N. owns. The agents at the museum got their orders to examine the crime scene, look over the evidence and report. No one's allowed to know more than they aught to."

Espio's eyes swiveled to the bow of the tram. "Hop off, we're here."

The Museum of Natural Sciences stood alone, spanning an entire block of Sunset Avenue, strafed on all sides by a surrounding garden of flowers and hedges. Vector had visited only once before, and by accident, mistaking the decorative stain glass along the squat building and the eye-catching front tower as the markings of a church. Long, gothic windows stretched down all three stories like alcoves and a tall flight of stairs marked the pilgrimage to the massive oak doorway.

Three days had passed since the incident, but homebound pedestrians still took the time to slow their pace and glance at the museum's recent additions. A heavy, plastic dropcloth covered the shattered entryway (Vector could not spot the splintered originals, wherever they had blasted off to), and Guardian infantry in dark riot gear took position about the perimeter of red tape and black vans shoving the meandering crowds across the street. A scattered mass of hoverpods monitored the onlookers from a higher vantage.

Espio bade pause in the shadows across the streets while he shifted colours to match his identification. "I do the talking," he warned. "Don't draw any attention."

Vector occupied himself chewing bubblegum, so he just nodded. He inflated a pink balloon while zipping up his flame-trimmed leather jacket, and the sphere popped all over his snout in a gooey mess.

For some reason or other, Espio's face was painted over with certain doom. "Just … just don't beat anyone up," he sighed, and began the approach. Vector shrugged and followed, jiving along to the disco funk on his playlist.

Hoverpods descended upon the pair the second they crossed the perimeter fences, circling the intruders like a wheel of crackling, electrified metal. Espio threw his wallet up like a shield. "Stand Down," he ordered in a sharp whisper, waving his hands to shoo the pests. To the pain of Vector's ailing heart, the metal bugs actually jerked away from Espio, like magnets repelling alike charges and lowered their weapons.

Human sentries stepped towards the reptilian pair. They seemed to recognize the horned lizard with brown leather scales and the helmet-like face; Vector noticed the nervous tic flash between their eyes.

"Pardon me, Agent Smithson, but no civilians are allowed…"

Espio shot an icy glare. "He's with me. Problem?"

The guard went rigid. "Sir, no sir!" he barked on reflex. Espio rewarded himself with a little smirk, straightened his jacket and proceeded up the little boulevard to the tall staircase. "Total cakewalk," he repeated.

No one dared give Espio any trouble. Sauntering down the tall, scholarly corridors with his stiff-necked march, he rebuked every objection with a sharp look, and the soldiers on patrol fell in line. Same with the hoverpods floating around the interior. The helicopter eyeballs would approach, and Espio had only to flash his counterfeit ID card with its security barcode to keep them at bay.

Vector focused a cautious attention on the Guardians they passed, scanning the black-suited humans for a familiar tall and awkward height, and a shag of blonde hair down the neck and ears. His knuckles itched hopefully for that devious flash of light across half-moon spectacles.

"Back in line, soldier!" Espio snapped at the human sentries, trenchcoat storming off his back like a cape. "Outta my way!" Even the plainclothes agents running the investigation weren't even bothering to stop and examine his credentials – they were all sidestepping and avoiding eye contact with this lizard, crackling menace like an electrical storm.

Vector wished Espio's demeanor were all an act. He called it an exaggeration. "This must be yer Seventh Heaven," he remarked as another human jumped in the reptiles' presence.

"Hey, it's not like they can disobey an order from an Enforcer."

Vector made as though squinting through fog. "Huh! _Conspiracy Book._ Izzat whatcha call yer comic books now?" He snorted rudely. "Y'aughta be a whole lot more scared of this guy if yer right 'bout this secret-assassin thing."

"Worried? I'm flattered."

Vector spluttered and flushed, but Espio spared him from explanation. "We're here." The brown-scaled chameleon gestured at the high-arched entrance to the Geology Chamber, the scene of the crime. He ordered the human investigators out and allowed Vector in, once alone.

The crocodile went numb, managing only a whisper. "Holy Guacamole. Looks like someone had a huge shoot-out here…"

High-roofed and humbling in its size, the museum's Geology chamber kept with the cathedral-styled design outside. This church had been desecrated.

Bulletfire had shattered the alcove windowpanes and rattled plaster from the walls. A towering dinosaur skeleton had been reduced to dust and spare-ribs. The rows of glass casements showcasing fossils and precious minerals were now rows of glass and splinters, one scrap heap where each display had once stood. Vector spun his head around, dumbfounded at the display of reckless violence.

"Careful now," Espio warned. "You just stepped one someone's head."

Vector checked his feet – and jumped away from the white-chalk body outline sprawled on red-soaked tiles.

"That was the security guard," Espio explained. "It's fair to guess he walked in on our thief and," again, his skin flickered in colour, "well, I guess that really spooked our thief." Vector fell silent, looking at the overkill.

Espio cleared his throat. "The guy didn't get away clean, though." He prodded Vector through the carnage and gestured to a second splatter of dry blood.

"Is G.U.N. checkin' hospitals?"

"No doubt. But whoever did this isn't stupid enough to visit a public clinic. This guy was professional, Vector. Armor piercing bullets – he came ready to scrap up any nosey hoverpods. Agents found a pulley and winch system on the roof – he lowered himself through the ventilation ducts, cut off the security cameras and knocked out two guards on patrol before Number Three over there got the jump on him."

"An' the other two? They're alive?"

A shrug. "Might as well be dead: G.U.N. picked them up for questioning, an' they know what really happened here."

Vector nodded. There hadn't been a murder in the United Provinces in four months. Not since the Guardians took complete control of national security and newspapers congratulated the infantry squadron who terminated The Doctor's unnamed black hedgehog.

A meek human technician interrupted he moment, shuffling in with a pair of modified Hoverpods. Espio nodded to indicate they were done and gestured to Vector they should leave. Vector bent over to whisper, "What're those?" pointing a finger at the chemical tanks strapped behind the robots' dorsal gun barrels.

"Weekend's enough time to gather all the clues here," Espio replied softly in a roundabout way. "Crews're packin' up tonight; turning this over to city repair crews. Just got to make sure their alibi holds up."

A spurt of flame burst from the Hoverpods' cannon.

Vector's fury hung all the more dangerous when controlled and cold. "Nothing ever changes," he snarled, retreated in memory. He refused to leave just yet, shoving Espio and his recommendations aside, and marched furiously to the far wall, to the one display case left unscathed. The glass front had been hammered to pieces, contents snatched in a hurried escape, but the frame kept intact.

"An' all this," he gestured to the ruined artifacts and the defiled cathedral. "All fer a fistful o' rocks!"

Espio stood at his side, muttering suggestions of departure. Vector shoved his hand in the creeper's face and knocked him to the floor, storming outside by his own accord.

Through the broken windows entered a cry like wolf's howl, serenading the growing flames.

**……….**

The Curator's third-floor office was a posh little study space lined with bookshelves, filing cabinets and a library-like atmosphere of cleanliness and silence. Vector sulked from a hard plastic chair while Espio dug through the museum's records.

"Made a copy of Arya Rane's file this afternoon." The museum kept accounts of all its contributing philanthropists. "She lives here in Corvalis. Couldn't find her all afternoon – wrote down a bad address, maybe." He interrupted his broken mutterings with a curse. "Where'd that master copy go?"

"So that's yer plan? Get the ol' lady teh hire us?"

Espio abandoned the top drawer and hunched down to rifle through a lower cabinet. Vector snorted, his mind lingering over the crime scene. "Heart o' gold y'gat there, Espio. Heart o' gold." The chameleon hadn't shut any of the previous drawers. If he stood up, he'd whack his head on their underside.

He did. Clutching his head, Espio stumbled out of the overhang and made to curse, but contained himself with a long, cleansing growl that left Vector chuckling.

"Y'know," Vector interjected, "I know a lady who could use some help too. We aughta look her up."

Espio was on the edge of finally cracking. It was not good timing. "Look," he began, heaving the words out with great big helpings of frustration. "I have a real case here, with a broad who's obviously rich and who'll pay big time to have her valuables returned. We have rent due. We don't have time for some crackpot fur-bag who saw an alien."

"The rent'll work out. Stop worryin'!"

Espio just hissed in reply. Vector gave up, and approached an interesting box of files left on the curator's desk. "Forensics reports, an' rest of the evidence," Espio grunted, one eye swiveled sideways at the croc. The counterfeit 'Enforcer' had apparently ordered a summary of the investigation this afternoon.

Vector dug around morbidly for clues, shivering at the autopsy photos Espio had perused. He quickly switched to a postage envelope marked _Security Interviews_. Inside were two unmarked tape cassettes.

"Transcripts from the interrogations they pulled on the two guards. Don't bother – they were both too freaked to say anything smart."

A walkman had been provided for Espio's convenience. Vector jacked in his headphones anyhow and popped in the first tape, noting the title _Lizard Interview._

A crumpled paper ball bounced off Vector's snout and into his hands. It unfolded, and Vector noted the photocopied duplicate of Ms. Rane's now-misplaced file. Yet another roundabout call for help from the self-absorbed egoman. Vector shook his head and glanced over the personal information, searching for the address.

"Lemmie see …" He frowned. "Central Station?"

Espio spun sharply. "What're you babbling about? That's her street address there."

Vector dictated the exact wording. "216 Central St. The St. is fer Station, right?" He added, "Besides, there ain't no Central Street in Corvalis. Guess ya figured that out the hard way this afternoon?"

The photocopy exchanged claws, and Espio gave a seemingly casual study, fighting the red blush illuminating his face. "She puts the train station as her address?" he muttered with disgust. "Lady must be crazy! And what kind of a name is _Arya?_ That's not a proper mammal name." He was just ranting now to hide his embarrassment, so Vector tuned him out and returned to the tape cassette.

It began with official remarks. Date, time, Interviewee: Tyro the Gecko, bla, bla, bla … Vector fast-forwarded to the good stuff.

A crackling distortion caught him off guard. Vector raised the volume, and his eyes widened at the sound of fearful shivering. Hands pressed his headphones close to his ear canals – the speaker spoke in panicked little breaths, tongue held by a horrible terror.

"Dark … I, I thought I saw someone … Lights were off; I couldn't tell. … But I felt it. This … this, chill up my back, this … this cold, creeping feeling. Like I was being followed." Ragged breathing. Vector felt the recent past stir to mind.

"But I couldn't hear a thing!" The speaker whimpered, reliving a torture. "It was total silence, but this … this _thing,_ I swear I saw it, gliding around, … like a mist. Like … like a _ghost_!"

A cold aura dropped over the room. Vector spun the volume dial, straining for the final words, voices and their story overlapping in his mind.

_"It, came up behind me … and … and then…"_

Vector punched the _stop_ button. Espio received the full weight of his serious stare, still babbling on about the foolery of mammals. Vector spun his partner round and locked eyes. "What's Rane's address?" he demanded.

Espio rightly deduced he should skip over any quibbling. "Uh … two-sixteen?" he offered.

A glance out the office windows confirmed sundown over the city. That wasn't enough deterrent for the investigator. "We gatta catch a ride. Now!" Guardians had converged on Cid Wheeler only hours after the call for police went out. They might be too late already…

Two reptiles burst through the museum's tarp entrance and vaulted the blockade into the cold night air. A flash of yellow, and Vector dived to barricade traffic, stretching his arms and forcing the taxi to stop. He'd mooch fare off Espio, but right now they had no time to waste on snails-pace tramcars! "Horn-Top, git movin'!"

Espio had followed reluctantly at first, but now he walked in total daze, horn up in the air, stargazing with uncharacteristically wide eyes. "Vector?" he mumbled disbelievingly, pointing two fingers skyward. The croc turned his snout upward at the polluted gray-orange sky.

The concrete stars draped over the night sky had fallen, and their pinprick electric eyes had magnified in size and clarity, like a hundred harvest moons. The swarm hovered at attention, no longer above, but within the city, a hundred meteorites swollen and burning with electric fire, poised to strike the earth.

**

--------------------------

**

The cabbie could never be fast enough for Vector's need, and a horrible eternity lasted before he and Espio could barge through the doors of Central Station, nerve center of the Corvalis rail lines, for this one desperate investigation. Espio hesitated at the doors – straining to catch a foreign wail, something like the haunting, pure howl of a wolf – but Vector set himself to this one-shot chance, trekking down the tiled floors into the main terminal.

A janitor's waxing machine whined in the distance. The loudspeaker system announced a final boarding call to the emptiness. The great hall stretched long enough to admit an ocean of conversation, but now only the march of their footsteps clicked through the hollow building.

Vector steered their walk to aisles of gray, gunmetal lockers, stacked in columns and available to any commuter wishing a storage space. His snout swished from side to side, muttering as he walked. "Two-sixteen … two-sixteen."

A new set of footsteps disturbed the search, hurried and closing a gap. "One side, Leatherhides! Teh future's comin' thru!"

Two fast hands shoved the reptiles into the walls, and a snickering trenchcoat flowed through the new gap, shabby fedora cocked over a ratty ear and a fat, purple tail swishing across the floor.

A spark of electricity twitched through Espio's eyes and his throat growled thunder. Before he could lunge, Vector latched onto the chameleon's shoulder. The Chaotix exchanged looks, Espio protesting why he could not rip apart the obnoxious little mammal. The senior partner directed the chameleon to look ahead.

The greasy mammal buried under stained trenchcoat and fedora halted at locker 216.

They observed from the sidelines, trivial things forgotten and ignored, as the raggedy newcomer ran his eyes up and down the locker, like a crook inspecting a bank vault. His clothing placed him beyond identification – just a gorged, club-thick tail swishing beneath the coat, and a long, thin ear tucked along his head and hat like a feather. All the time, his gloved paws twitched and fidgeted, like a musician fingering an imagined instrument. One drummed against his pocket, the other twirled an icepick through its fingers.

The rat struck like a thunderclap, jamming his impromptu lockpick into the keyhole, hands wiggling it with what seemed like uncontrollable jitter of a caffeine rush. It was merely a practiced swiftness. Three seconds and he ripped the cubbyhole open, poking his nose into the metal cave and pulling at something inside that gave off the sound of heavy, strained metal-scraping-metal.

Another glance went between the detectives. Vector nodded for the approach.

The rat sensed them – his thin ear popping up like a windshield wiper – and spun quickly to face his opposition. He seemed to have expected more.

"_Nyaah_, whaddya yew leatherhides want? I dawn't give handouts!"

A hesitation ran through the duo. A few nasal octaves higher, but that ratty, oily voice sounded just like Vector, right down to the Jersey accent.

Espio lowered his horn and closed the gap. The mottled rat reeked of sweat and rotten meat, long overdue on a shower. Just getting near was like getting a blast of Vector's breath!

"I don't need money from some gutter-trash fur-coat like you," the chameleon growled, two fingers outstretched, ready to jab. _"Furry,"_ he added.

The warrior stood at a disadvantage, eyes reaching only the stranger's thin and wobbly swan neck. The rat lowered his grubby, untrimmed muzzle and snorted on the lizard, face still hidden under the fedora's brim. "Whatcha gonna do 'bout that, _Scale-face_?" His fingers danced even faster at his sides, curling like spider legs.

Vector made the first move. His gorilla paws shot out and snatched Espio round the snout, muffling the chameleon's protesting swears. He let his shadow drop over the mammal, head tilted to the side and razor teeth on display.

"Dat's Ellie Slater's locker," he boomed at his helium-voiced double. "Y'ain't gat no right lookin' through there, y'liddle grave-robber! So back off an' let us do our job."

Fur bristled, tail stiffened, and those maniac fingers skipped a beat on their invisible piano. The grimy mammal was obviously intimidated, but stood his ground, and tilted his chin up to analyze the crocodile with sneaky eyes sunken in the cave of his hat.

"Ellie?" he repeated with a squeaky hint of surprised. "Wait – wait a second." His tail snaked up and pointed incredulously at the reptiles. "You two – yer lookin' fer the Red Queen? _You guys?_"

A nasty little cackle split the air, not exactly booming or menacing, but high and feminine and annoying, like a witch's broken chortling.

"Aw man!" The raggedy rat wiped his teary eyes. "Yew don't 'ave any clue who yer dealin' wit', do ya? Yer gonna bring down the Red Queen? Ha! Little _Ellie's_ gonna make coats outta you Leatherhides! Nice costume, by teh way," he added, gesturing at the croc's garish and mismatched ensemble.

His temper boiled over. Vector barred his teeth and crunched.

Those fast hands moved with knee-jerk reflexes – flew into coat pockets, snapped upward and shoved two pistols between the croc's astonished nostrils. All before Vector could make a downward swipe.

The manic spider-fingers had finally stopped moving, their energy focused and tugging eagerly at the triggers of two black, anonymous guns lengthened with silencer muzzles. The rat smirked at his one-upmanship and removed his pistols. Vector didn't move, and clamped behind his palms, Espio watched the backtracking firearms in a shade of pale, porcelain pink.

"Aye'd put you boys outta yer misery," the rat smirked, "But yer probably so stoopid, you'll choke on yer spit an do teh job fer me." The pistols holstered in a quick flash, and the Chaotix resumed exhaling.

The rat took one last glance at the empty locker and tipped his hat to the reptiles. "I'll see ya 'round, Leatherhides." The concealed face grinned with his side-tilted muzzle, displaying an ugly set of yellow canines. A snaggletooth fang, long and sharp as Espio's arrowhead _kunai_ hung off his jaw in a nasty overbite. The rat smirked at their disgusted faces and sauntered off, hands in pockets, tail swishing with dark pleasure.

_"Happy huntin'!"_ he added, trailing that high-pitched, weasely cackle as he disappeared.

Espio took the moment of tensed silence as an opportunity of to kick Vector in shin. With a yelp, he dropped out of the croc's head-clamp and laid on the interrogation.

"Mind explaining what we're doing down here? Or why some rich lady is living out of a stationhouse locker? And who's this _Ellie_ chick, this Red Queen? I thought we're after Arya Rane!"

Vector pulled his snout from the locker, already picked clean of any possessions by the Guardians or some other party. Their assailant had taken the bait though, and left a valuable clue anyhow. "It's an alias," he muttered.

"What?"

"An alias." He turned around. "There is no Arya Rane – just a name teh smuggle stolen goods under." He peered into the locker again, at the false sheet of metal backing the rat had struggled to move. Deep behind this second trap door, Vector could smell the lingering scent of flowery perfumes.

_The Red Queen._ He'd heard that name before, years ago.

Espio had to raise his voice just a flicker to be heard. "Will you _kindly_ explain _Who – Is – Ellie – Slater?_"

"A crook, maybe." Vector replied with a growl. "An' a _murderer_." His voice shook with the deepest levels of disgust. "She's the one G.U.N.'s all frazzled about."

"Not much to go by," Espio sneered.

"Yeah," Vector admitted, losing none of his edge. "But we're gonna find her. We're gonna figure out who she is, where she's hidin; everythin' there is ta know about her.

"And we're gonna catch her."

**

--------------------------

**


	5. Fractured Perspectives

Morning arrived heavy and gray; the air claustrophobic with the dead weight of the vacant, hovering robot swarms clogging the topmost reaches of the Corvalis skyscrapers. 

Dull red eyes putted along office windows, inspecting the occupants like fish in a glass tank. Groups of three or five even dared to drop down to the level of foot traffic and sweep their sensors along the nervous pedestrians. Automobiles moved with a slow orderliness and sidewalks shuffled rank and file through the inspections. The city had transformed into a giant security checkpoint. 

Dire warnings sparked through G.U.N.'s media outlets to explicate the new emergency procedures: Military Division satellites detected enemy movement in the far north. The Doctor was mobilizing. 

Vector and Espio surveyed their gray city and the busy activity of the Guardian forces with a snort and a snarl, conjuring to mind the image of amusement park line-ups and the slow but steady shuffle through cordoned gates. "G.U.N. or The Doctor," Espio growled. "Pick yer poison." 

Refreshed and renewed with purpose and the promise of money, the Chaotix split to scour Corvalis for their nemesis, moving quickly and assertively against the cautious city backdrop. Espio departed for the library and its free computer access, while Vector called an old acquaintance to lunch. 

**……….**

Detective Betha Gallagher clomped out of the police station with an irritable frown in her heavy eyebrows, her flat, vertical-drop nose and her helmet of greasy blonde hair. She was a heavy human, not overweight, but neither was she the cute, curved smallness of femininity with her thick calves, large, calused hands and the coarse look in her porous face. Nothing sweet or dainty rested about the weatherworn woman in the purple suit jacket, storming down the stairs Vector had tumbled from some days past. 

The crocodile waved her over with a whistle, an elbow propping him on the stair rail in an admiring pose. "Hey Beth! How's it goin'?" 

She cut him off with her coarse grumble. "All right, I'm here," she stated, arms crossed irritably. "What do you need this time, Vector?" Her annoyed eyes glanced back to the stationhouse, as though ashamed to be caught in this company. 

The goofy smile perking Vector's snout stayed strong in her glower. "Just catchin' up on things, that's all. How 'bout we go fer a walk?" The back and forth distraction in her eyes bothered him. Each shoved their hands into jacket pockets and left the workplace, speaking with raised voices to combat the noon hour rush and the hoverpod prop-fans. 

"Didn't see ya this weekend," Vector commented. 

Beth studied the passing traffic as she spoke. "Yeah, well I had a case." She glared with sudden bitterness. "What did you expect me to do – play character witness and get you off the hook again? I told you to run!" 

Vector shrugged off her nagging. "Meh, weekend in the slammer ain't nothin' new. I just wish teh papers didn't go nuts on teh story an write me up like teh bad guy." He never intended to sound so suggestive, or to hit such a sensitive nerve. 

Beth snapped. "Don't you _dare!_ If you came to guilt me again, Vector, then you'd better leave, because I am _through_ taking responsibility for your burdens!" 

The finger aimed at his throat might have been a pistol, judging by his shock. "Whoa! Why ya so mad at me? I wasn't sayin' nuthin'. Look, I just need a favor!" _Wrong words!_ "Err I mean – I need yer help!" 

"Of course," Beth agreed drolly, setting her teeth and keeping her eyes forward. "Why else would you be here?" 

_What was with her today?_ If he could only… "I betcha you were worried those GUN-boys were gonna pull a disappearin' act on me, eh? 'Cause you sounded plenty excited when I called ya." 

He caught her nervous little swallow, but Beth still refused all eye contact, steeling her will against the croc's infectious charms. Well he'd make her laugh yet! 

"C'mon Beth, I ain't tryin' a guilt ya," he pleaded. "We're still pals!" He switched to heavy ammo. "An seein' you's better than sunshine," Vector continued, humming a familiar rock ballad. "One day away makes the world go gray!" 

Beth was beginning to flush and grin, and she quickened her pace. "Vector, no – not now." 

Ah, that sour, humdrum office scowl was dropping! Vector kept bouncing along, jumping to block her path. "C'mon Beth, y'know the woids!" 

She raised his palms in a cease-fire – to stop Vector's antics and to stop the blasted smile creeping over her face. "All right, all right!" But Vector kept going, putting on a victorious little grin as he started a little jig to go with his song. Beth he had to reach up and clamp his mouth shut to keep the idiot from embarrassing her. She pulled his face to a very personal, confiding whisper. "Look, let's sit down somewhere before someone sees us." 

Too late. A peal of squeaky, childish giggles crept over the scene, catching the close pair like a spotlight. Perched atop an elastic shop-awning and bouncing with pleasure, a cheeky little honeybee squirmed with delight over this interrupted intimacy. 

"Ooo-h!" Charmy crooned, hopping on his trampoline and humming singsong. "Beth-an-Vec-ter, sittin'-in-a-tree! K-I-S-Y-E-N-G!" 

"Hey!" Vector shouted back. "That's k-i-s-s, buddy!" 

Charmy giggled at the icky word. "Yeah, you'd know, Vecccc-ter!" The honeybee grew courageous and flew low, puckering his lips and making kissy-noises, careful to keep above Vector's jumping range. Beth averted her face, trying to hide the laughter threatening to escape. 

A new voice joined the display. "Afternoon, detective," jeered the uniformed cop. En-route to HQ, the pair of young trainees grinned ear-to-ear as they spotted the unlikely couple. Beth quickly regained the drive to scowl. 

"Consorting with the freelancer again, eh?" Vector stopped trying to nab Charmy and took note of the smug pair. 

"Certainly some personal liaison going on here," the second rookie nodded. His jabs moved for Vector. "Hey Jaws, got a leash for your little pet up there?" 

Vector responded with a low, throaty growl. The little man smirked, secure behind his badge and went on his way with a final leer at Beth. The croc pulled his body high while detective Gallagher muttered something inaudible. Charmy then made the mistake of dropping altitude to mime Vector's cross-armed glare. 

The croc snapped him in a vicegrip! Charmy squealed, half-giggling, half-panicking. "Hey! Lemmie go, lemmie go!" he squirmed. 

"Gatcha now, ya liddle brat!" Vector's meaty arm crushed the bug to his chest like a safety harness and his free knuckles rubbed over Charmy's head for a well deserved round of noogies. The kid squealed, but Vector didn't stop until the yelps began to sound painful. "Ow, ow, I give up; stop it! Beth, help!" 

"Vector, I will book you for assaulting a minor." 

"Killjoy," he sulked. The knuckles of Fury relented and a tousled Charmy gave a relived sigh. But Vector wasn't about to go soft on the guy – he tucked the little imp under his armpit like a newspaper for safekeeping. "Awwh!" Charmy slouched down in a pout, a little puppy grounded in his kennel. 

Beth seemed satisfied with that, judging by her rising grin. "Hey funny guy," she smiled, bending close to poke Charmy's button nose. 

Charmy pouted, his fun spoiled. "I'm not funny!" 

Beth raised her head to Vector, and it pleased him to note her smile. "Brought him along for Pity-Points, didja?" 

"Not this time. Guess teh little scamp followed me down, eh?" 

"I saw ya, and followed ya for a whole ten minutes, and you didn't even see me," Charmy declared. 

"Poifect timing, though. Look, Beth, I just need one small favor. I gatta feeling this new case is somethin' big." 

"Not this time, Vector." 

"Aww, c'mon! Do it fer the little guy!" he shifted Charmy to his hands and presented the little urchin to her face. "Y'wouldn't turn down a face like that, would ya?" 

Moody and surly, Charmy pulled his eyelid and blew a raspberry. 

Vector faltered. "Uh, well, you get the idea." 

Beth rolled her eyes up at her thick brow, waging a war with her common sense as she chewed her lip. "If ya say no," Charmy warned, "Vecter's gonna get mad an' hit me! Just like he does at home!" 

"Hey!" 

Beth allowed herself to smile. "Liar," she smirked, tickling Charmy's chin and making him squirm. "All right, Vector: let the hostage go and we'll talk." 

Free once again, Charmy jumped to the air with a whoop and a cheer, jeering, "She only said 'Yes' so she could be with her booooy-friend!" 

Beth followed the honeybee's departure into the skyscrapers, restraining some awkward blushing. "Where does he go when he's not with you guys?" 

Vector gave a shrug and a grunt. "Dunno. Never really asked." 

"You know, he's okay right now, but pretty soon you'll have to get him a Flyer's License." 

"A what now?" 

"A Flyer's License – It's like a firearm permit, but you're registering ownership of your wings." 

"What?" Vector squawked. "R-Register? Y'mean li-like … fill out a form? On record?" He tried to harden his panic with accusations. "What kinda scam you pullin'? Teh kid can't fly unless some _human_ gives him teh okay?" 

Beth shrugged. "It's for security reasons more than anything – we put your personal data and a sample of your wing or feathers into the computer, so the next time some crook cases a thirtieth-floor apartment, we can start our search on the people with easy access to high places. 

"Anyway, Charmy's six now and underage, but … twelve or fourteen, (I can't remember which,) that's the cut-off age. You got that?" 

The speech had been short, but Vector appeared stunned and swamped in information. "Uh, yeah, yeah. Got it." Beth pinned a quizzical look on the 'dile – Vector's light, bouncy energy had dissipated; he hesitated before speaking. 

"Twelve ... Huh – six years," he muttered in a deep meditation. The croc bobbed uncomfortably, and tried making a joke of it. "Heh, I, uh, never really thought the kid would be with me that long." 

"Well Vector, that's because you never really think ahead that much." 

Vector glared down at the shorter woman, upset that this friend could trivialize what was for him a very reflective and serious moment. "Whatever. I'll work somethin' out. Now, how 'bout lunch?" 

Beth adamantly refused. "No. Lunch with you means pigging out at some steak house." 

"Ah, c'mon Beth – yer not fat; yer just well-fed!" 

A sigh of relent. "All right. We'll order noodles." 

"With riblets," Vector added. 

She rolled her eyes. "Of course. Might as well eat at my office," she muttered. "Not like this is confidential anymore." 

Vector moved past her grumbling and linked arms. "Shall we, Detective Gallagher?" 

Shrugging off the lingering embarrassment and shame, Betha resigned herself with a weak smile. "Let's, Detective Vector." After a pause, she added, "I'm glad you're all right, Vector." The croc beamed, knowing he'd judged his friend correctly. 

More somberly, "Don't know what I'd do with myself if you got in real trouble..." 

. 

The Chaotix had the pleasure of meeting Betha Gallagher some three years past, when both law enforcement parties had witnessed their primary months, and while Corvalis had shook with the broadcast of a kidnapping – nine-year-old Katrina Emiko, an apple-cheeked image of innocence, snatched from a local playground. Outrage had resonated from all races and social tiers, mammals, aves and reptiles alike, and the girls' parents, desperate to the point of madness, had sought the aid of the Chaotix Detective Agency. 

And they found the girl. Late one evening, when a downpour like a monsoon shook the palm-lined streets. Cold, wet and every bit as miserable as their sobbing target, Vector – wishing nothing more than to collapse on his beautiful couch – ordered a retreat to the office, conceiving it most sensible to deliver the girl, well fed and rested, the next morning. 

In their defense, both Chaotix had been sluggish and slow of thought in that numbing midnight hour. 

There they were: two reptiles – one strictly carnivorous – racing down the soggy streets under the cover of night with a desperate speed, each holding the hand of a frightened little girl – a _human_ girl, to make matters worse – one currently modeling on milk cartons, and they assumed a city addled with righteous anger would look them over. 

A police cruiser pulled up, highlighting the odd couple walking their darling little girl. 

And the cop got out and held them at gunpoint. 

With an assault rifle. 

And handcuffed them. 

And read their rights. 

And when Espio tried to resist and explain, maced him. 

At the time, Vector found it oddly amusing: Espio running in circles like a headless chicken, clutching his face and screaming falsetto. 

Then she did him too. 

Little Katrina got to play with the siren while the car drove the lizards to lock-up. 

And that was how the Chaotix met officer Betha Gallagher. 

Not since a ten-year-old hedgehog had stood up against unbeatable odds had the world received a hero with such cheer and celebration. There came medals of valor and a promotion for the heroic officer who saved the day. Yanked off her feet by a dizzying media whirlwind, Beth improvised confused smiles for the cameras and mumbled through the surge of press conferences cheering her good deed. 

When the celebrations dimmed and Beth found a moment of rest, she stole away to the local stationhouse, where two civilians sulked, falsely arrested and confined to the shadows off-stage. 

And Beth fell against the prison bars and hung her head in shame. 

. 

Take-out arrived and they fell to eating, pausing for garbled talk and to laugh at Vector's stories. Beth's office always charmed him, both in technology and in neatness. Computer, fax machine, a telephone that could record messages; heck, she even had carpeting! Windows encircled the walls, allowing her to monitor the general staff area and the desks of lesser officers, and it bothered him how Beth preferred to withdraw herself behind lowered blinds with the lights off, leaving outdoor sky to fill the room with a sad, blue dawn. On her desk she kept a picture of Vector and Charmy (while Espio shielded his face with an objecting hand). A rosary was draped around the frame. 

"So," Vector mumbled over a mouthful of food, "What's new?" 

Beth swallowed before replying, almost hesitantly, "_Solomon_ called again. Said they're willing to increase my dental coverage." 

Vector's mouth frothed at the bribery. "Bah! I hope ya turned 'em down again. I mean, you'd hafta move all the way out ta that hick-province Genosa, leave yer family an' everybody ya know!" 

A somber gaze took her eyes. "At double my current salary and three weeks vacation," Beth mumbled, eyes on the world past her window. 

"An' yer just a replacement," Vector lectured on. "They're just lookin' fer a new body! You'd be teh New Guy, an' no one 'ud give ya any respect!" 

Her eyes fell to her cup of noodles. "Maybe I should take that chance." 

Vector hadn't caught that. "Huh?" 

Beth shook away her musings. "It's nothing. Anyway, let's get back to you." She tossed her food to the garbage, gave a little stretch and swiveled her seat over to the computer terminal. Vector scooted his seat over and sidled up behind her shoulder. 

"Right. I needed ta check yer database fer a suspect." 

Beth's thick fingers were already dancing away. "Name?" 

"Ellie Slater." 

Beth fired off further questions while she typed. Age? Is she a minor? Dunno. Address? Place of business? Dunno. Species? Umm … uh, a mouse. I think. 

Beth looked back with a pathetic stare. "You don't know much about this woman, do you?" 

"Well why d'ya think I'm askin' you?" Vector snapped. 

"Of course," Beth sighed. Her fingers gave pause and her eyebrows frowned at the flickering monitor. "Sorry, that name isn't showing up. No criminal record." 

Vector's posture drooped, and the cruel cords of empathy yanked Beth's heartstrings for the ride. "Uhh, but hey," she piped up, "all that means is that she hasn't committed any local crimes. Look, we keep a line open with some other major cities. Let me check our sister networks. Is this a missing persons case?" 

"Well, she's flown the coop, if that's what ya mean." Beth had already pinged a request for data when Vector added, "It's a murder case." 

Her thick features and heavy nose gave Beth a slow look when confused. "Murder?" she exclaimed, clenching her eyes as though blind. "What do you mean a _murder case?_" 

"Security guard killed on teh job." 

Beth scoffed, and knocked Vector in the arm for startling her so. "Yeah right! I think I'd be the first to know; not to mention a murder would be all over the news! And the Guardians – they're taking enough rap as it is for all these burglaries and arson over the country while they're on high-patrol; don't you think that if someone was killed they'd be scrambling to…" 

Beth caught her lips in a pursed _oh_. Her eyes wandered the distance to her office window, silent and attentive to the rumble of watchful hoverpods. Her computer searches, one by one, returned negative. 

They were back to work with new interest. "So this Ellie, she's the one?" Beth inquired, hunched over her monitor. Vector leaned his snout over her shoulder; skin brushing her hair to get a better look. "Yeah," he answered. 

"Not the kind of person I'd like going around unnoticed," she murmured. All police divisions on the network came up blank. Beth chewed her lip again (a habit forming) and gave a sidelong glance at the crocodile, now balancing a hand on her shoulder. Vector faltered, gave a sheepish smile and toddled back to a respectful distance. 

Lightning struck. "Wait, let me try one last search." Beth attacked the keyboard and erupted a proud little "A-ha! Got her!" 

She rotated the monitor for Vector to see. "It's a national database for missing children," she explained. "Look who showed up." 

Vector read the findings aloud. "_Name:_ Eleanor Slater. _Date-of-birth: … _ (he did some math), she'd be 'bout twenty by now. _Missing since: … _ (he counted on his fingers) seven years back." 

From the frown on Beth's face he had obviously missed something. "Read the last line," she instructed. "That's why she's not showing up on any records." 

Vector did. _Missing From:_ Station Square. 

The house of cards toppled over. The fine china shattered to pieces. Vector covered his face, crashed back in his chair and moaned with at all his perfectly laid plans gone to waste! Ellie was a rogue! 

_The Great Chaos._ The Doctor's return from a long absence and the launch of his Second Renaissance – flying warships over crowded metropolitan areas, firing a nuclear warhead into the hub city of Station Square and finally summoning some hocus-pocus dragon made of water (no joke!) to level the city with a supernatural flood. 

It was just over a year now, and the government was still trying to tag down all the survivors, scattered like windswept sand over the country and trying to start fresh. All the records of their previous lives had been drowned and deleted. The water levels had never receded from the skeletal city. 

"Sorry," Beth offered, keeping still at her station, always very conservative about touching. She glanced to the screen to break from the over-emotional 'dile and gazed at Ellie Slater's childhood picture. "Funny, isn't it? A sweet little thing like that growing up into a killer." She kept a picture of little Katrina Emiko in her wallet, but the doe-eyed girl on her screen made that human child seem mud-ugly in comparison. 

"Can, can I get a copy o' that?" Vector asked. Beth complied. "Nuthin' more, is there?" Vector inquired, a little disappointed with just the headshot. 

"There's so many kids; they can only post so much." 

"Well, thanks again - Yer a diamond in the rough, Beth." She could not meet his eyes on that statement, but he failed to notice, moody as he was. "Huhhh, sorry ta bug ya… " Wait – wait, the case wasn't closed yet! He still had one other lead. "Hey Beth, you ever heard of a crook called teh Red Queen?" 

He'd said something wrong. Beth's eyebrows bushed up, her flat nose flared, and with a glance at the office windows to confirm their privacy, she slugged him in the shoulder. "Is _this_ what you've been wasting my time for? Hunting down some stupid comic book character?" 

Though his leather skin had probably cut her knuckles, just the shock of the verbal attack left Vector stinging and nursing his bruise. "Ow! What's that fer? I'm just askin'!" 

Those heavy eyebrows lifted with revelation, and Beth cringed as though she'd slapped a witless child. "He doesn't know," she muttered absently, calming her anger with an effort. 

"First off," she began, her pockmarked face frowning at his ignorance, "I don't make a practice of giving suspects cartoon or super-villain names. No police officer should; it carries a stereotype and a label, and when you need to examine a case from all angles, those only block viewpoints." From there she descended into mumbling, "Goodness, that was one of the first things I taught you …" 

"So you've 'eard of 'er?" 

Beth regarded him with anger again. "Heard of her? Vector, every little crook or street-gang cadet we drag in here natters on about the Red Queen like she's a bedtime-story boogeyman out to get them, or a childhood hero they all worship; it's ridiculous! 

"Look, the Red Queen was a name invented by the tabloids after a panic attack. She's just an urban legend, like the floating island or the metal sonic. A scary story that got out of hand." 

Vector dropped his jaw to retort, but thought better of it and clamped up. 

"Second point," Beth continued, "if these campfire stories had any bit of truth behind them, the proper term would be Red _Queens,_ because there had to be more than just this…" she gestured to the computer with disgust, "this Miss Slater pulling all those jobs by herself." 

Vector leapt at her little omission. "So there was somethin' goin' on!" 

Another weary sigh. "All right," Beth conceded, "it's best you hear the facts from me so you don't spin any rumors out of control and start beating up panhandlers again." 

"Hey! I _saw_ the guy's shoes! Nobody with shoes that expensive aughta be beggin' fer cash! Dat hustler had it comin'!" 

Beth's eyebrows loomed like thunderclouds, ordering him to shut up. "This whole business with the _Red Queen_," she explained using quotation fingers, "goes back about … five years, before you came to the country. Back then the Provinces were hit with some major burglaries." 

"How major?" 

"You remember that touring museum exhibit – 'Cultural Artifacts of the Westside Islands'? Apparently this Queen was the one who stole the Hope Emerald." 

Vector expressed his familiarity loud and obnoxiously. "Oh yeah! I remember that!" He snickered and shared his private joke. "We made you guys pay through teh nose when you lost that bauble, haha!" His eyes widened with revelation. 

"Hey! Dat's where I heard her name! Our papers wrote up all this bulk 'bout how you guys blamed teh emerald on some phantom thief. Ha! I can't believe we even gat yer Prez teh apologize! Huha!" 

A corner of his rambunctious mind caught patriotic Beth's glare; he hastily smartened up. "A-hum … so, I uh, guess it was a bad time?" 

"Badder than any chao-napping you and your boys ever handled," she retorted. "The Hope Emerald was just one of a series: Art galleries, casino vaults; mansions with customized private-security installed. These robberies targeted all the high-rollers." 

"Modus Operandi?" Vector inquired and Beth smiled, pleased that he'd remembered some of her tutoring. 

"Anything big and shiny: jewelry, diamonds, some paintings and especially gemstones. They never touched soft money, though. And they always left a calling card in place of the removed valuables: the Queen of Diamonds. The media ate it up and spewed out some trash about a super-villain who could melt through walls and locked doors, and called 'em the Red Queen." 

"What happened to the stuff – the jewels an' all that?" 

"Never recovered. Smuggled and re-cut over the black market no doubt. Good luck finding it all five years later." 

"Now, when you say five years, you mean…" 

"Fifteen high-profile robberies throughout the provinces spread over the course of ten months." Vector clutched his chest, ready to freak out. "Yeah," Beth nodded, "that's what most people would say." 

"Whaa? How d'they learn security an' find equipment so fast?" 

"Vector, once you step back and look over all the evidence, you'll find it very much impossible for all those heists to be the work of a single individual. My best guess is that this was a mob effort perpetrated by several teams of trained thieves." 

"No one ever caught this girl, or saw what she looked like?" 

"The last heist _they_ pulled was the Hope Emerald; after that they just disappeared as fast as they'd popped up. The newspapers kept anticipating the next job for about a month before they got bored and figured she – I mean, _they_ – had vanished. And that was that." 

_Not quite._ "She's back Beth. The Queen's back – she's the one who pulled all those little jobs that popped up; this weekend she trashed the museum. But she ain't gettin' away this time," he declared, straightening up. "Guardians are after her, an' the Chaotix are takin' up teh case!" 

Beth insisted on keeping up her skepticism. "_Murder indeed._ Vector, it's only natural for the Guardians to take interest in those thefts and the fire – they're out there protecting us against mech attacks, and, well you heard the press conferences; you've seen them arresting vandals – they're enforcing a zero-tolerance policy on crime. They can't overlook any petty theft." 

"These ain't any petty thefts, Beth. Four months an we've had five banks an security warehouses knocked off, an fer all the floatin' eyeballs they gat up there, those GUN-boys ain't even nabbed a suspect! This guy, girl – whoever – is good! 

His thoughts fell out one after another. "Yeah, it all makes sense: If the Red Queen could burn through fifteen vaults in under a year an just walk away, who else could sneak under teh radar an make teh Guardians look like morons?" 

The speech had exhausted Beth. "You know Vector, you're the only one crazy enough to believe that kind of story." 

He was quick to counter. "Hey – you told me a good detective hasta look outside teh box! Well baby, I ripped up dat cardboard package an chewed it fer breakfast!" 

That made her smile over her cynicism. "I suppose you and I do believe in crazier things," she conceded, fingering the rosary on her desk. "But if you're right," she warned, "if some people or … (sigh) this mouse girl Ellie orchestrated all these crimes, and even killed a man, then you're way over your head, Vector." 

He only snorted. "Bring it on!" 

Again he smoothed away her weatherworn frown. "You never give up, do you?" 

Certainly no hesitation there. "Nope! Like ya said Beth, I'm the Indefatigable Spirit!" Then, feeling bold, he leaned over her desk and met her face with an admiring, sidelong grin, "That's why I'm so irresistible, eh?" 

A sad smile claimed her face. (Vector brightened – it was elementary that her transparent thoughts were a disappointment.) "Of course Vector," she whispered, stroking the prayer beads in her palm. "Of course." 

**

--------------------------

**

A new avenue of investigation had opened in his mind, and so Vector walked purposefully to join Espio in research at the library, paying close attention to his war-wrecked city as he moved. To his sides, Victorian townhouses hedged the sky into a narrow tunnel, but the ever-plunging hills spread before his feet breathed a wide view of the wounded capital. 

In the sea-level downtown district, roadways heaved up in jagged debris, as though tremors had raced through the concrete. Every so often a townhouse or apartment was lacking in the flanking walls of buildings, like a lost tooth in a smile, and the bony orange scabs of construction cranes rose above the rooftops, cables drooped over as though in weary defeat. 

The damages laid down by the bombing runs trailed to the harbor, and the crystal bay dividing the capital. Only now, the waters bobbed with dark and heavy repair-tankers, sifting out the protruding concrete and steel cables blasted off the golden-arched Centennial Bridge. 

He tolerated his apartment and the squalor because on the other side of the rail tracks, a city sparkling in sunny purity existed. All one had to do was let the details blur – take in the big picture, and hope reigned. 

In the aftermath of the ARK, the broken-down disappointment of his office had spread building to gray building. Like a wave of disease, hoverpods skimmed through the air. 

A patrol of three dropped over his very street, and Vector followed their movements carefully. Up close, the faceless eyepods cast off their impassive, comatose state. Quick and methodic, they examined their surroundings like sharp-eyed alley cats. Why, if he had to place a character to these metal eyeballs, he'd say they almost seemed … worried. A tense, almost desperate mood drove their search onward. 

Not for a moment had he believed the scare-tactic news reports; he couldn't believe Beth and the rest of the city thought G.U.N. was playing defense and stringing up hoverpods like searchlights to protect against mech assaults. 

They were hunting. 

A traffic light stopped Vector's march. Across the intersection, a young lady balanced a chest-full of grocery bags while her two chao – black and white – took flight and chased each other around her body. Vector's face softened at the happy family, yet untainted by the gray city. 

A sudden uproar interrupted his music. Curious, Vector pulled off his headset and strained to catch the sound – something like the haunting, pure howl of a wolf, piped through a synthesizer and released with a wild electric reverb. 

The dark shine of a motorbike was flying down the tunnel of gray buildings with dangerous speed, growing closer and showing no sign of breaking for traffic. 

A cry. "Aurora! Get back here!" Vector snapped his attention to the crosswalk, where the two chao had tackled one another to the ground and tumbled into the open street, giggling and immersed in play while the electric wolf howl shot forward like a bullet. 

Vector didn't think – he only reacted. _"Gitdown!"_ he hollered, lunging into the street, arms out wide to scoop and hug the chao to his chest. They wailed at the stranger; the motorbike washed over his ears – a scream of ineffective breaks. Too far from safety, Vector dived to his knees, wrapped arms, tail, head around the infants, prayed he'd at least shield their bodies, and braced for crushing tires. 

A flash of hot exhaust scorched his spine; the motorist loosed a crazy scream as his levitating hoverbike latched on to the croc's arched, ramp-like back and flew into the air. 

_Hoverbike?_ Vector lifted his snout in time to catch the little red engine smash back to the ground, spinning out of control like a whirling top until it collided with a lamppost. The wolf howl cut dead. 

An explosion of silence washed over the accident. Stunned and half a mind from fainting, Vector slowly eased up onto his shaky legs to join the crowd of onlookers. His shaky arms opened to release the chao, but they huddled close to their protector anyhow, glassy eyes trembling with fright. 

The bike was undamaged – a small and round, bare-minimum engine straddling two rocket boosters. It might have been a wild, red jetski dumped off a trailer hitch if it weren't levitating a foot from the ground, the hydrogen fuel-cell engine idling with a vacuum's low hum. Whiplash had smashed the driver's face into the handlebars, and Vector feared he be comatose – _or worse_ – until the biker moaned and stirred to life, shaking off his riding goggles and letting his hazy vision focus on the hunchbacked green dinosaur who'd caused his spill. 

Windshield-wiper ears sprang stiff; python tail burst rigid and an awful banshee shriek split the air with hatred as both crocodile and weasel roared "YOU AGAIN!" 

The rat ground his overbite fangs and revved his hoverbike to life, boosting the altitude so Vector had to crane his head up at the airborne biker. 

"Dats twice yew gat in my way, ya big, green idjit!" came the venomous snarl. "I gat half a mind ta cap ya right here, so you better git on yer knees, Leatherhide, an hope I'm feelin' generous!" 

The chao at his shoulders quivered and buried their heads in his neck but Vector stood firm, teeth exposed as he released a low, predatory hiss. "Y'gat somethin' ta say, scuzz-butt? C'mon down here an' bring it on! But I bet a liddle runt like you's yellow as a canary!" Without the flaring trenchcoat, Vector could see the knobby elbows and knees poking off the scrawny weasel, and he wanted no less than to wring the bobbing swan neck. 

Fingers flailed at the handlebars like attack dogs pulling at their chains. "Well, well, well," the weasel snarled, biting back his outrage. He eased the hoverbike into a slow, idling curve, circling the crocodile like a spotlight. "Looks like we gatta leatherhide who don't know his place – teh _gutter!_ I knew you was stoopid, buddy, but you must be some gutsy moron teh talk ta _me_ like dat!" 

Vector jerked his head round to keep the circling weasel in view. "An you gat some nerve drivin' like that in my town!" Fingers itched at his belt, ready to unholster the tazer-pistol at his hip. "Beat it while ya gat the chance, ratso!" 

The weasel shook with rage. _"Do yew know who I am?"_

Rather than intimidate, the threat gave Vector a chuckle. "Oh, I know who you are: A greasy, alley-trash, runt-o-the-litter who got his face smacked ina blender! You use those teeth ta open cans er somethin'?" 

Veins threatened to pop off the weasel's forehead; his muzzle curled with a fiery growl. "When it's business, it's Fang – Fang teh Sniper!" he announced, pleased to see the crocodile startle. "But since takin' out a liddle Leatherhide like you aughta be a pleasure, the name's Nack." 

Vector felt his confidence sputter. "_Fang the Sniper?_" he repeated. "_Four-Fingered Fang? The Doc's favorite bounty hunter?_" 

The ball was in Nack's court now. "Ahh, now we're gettin' somewhere," he snickered. "An' yer the leatherhide who thinks he's gonna bag the Red Queen, eh? Ha! No competition on dis hunt!" 

The crocodile only surprised him more with his cross-armed snort. "I'll say! I thought a big bad hunter like you'd be taller!" 

The mammal's outrage was to Vector almost cartoonish in its obviousness. Ears, tail, fingers – all popped with a furious spasm – and Nack raised a fist and slammed it on the handlebars, over a big, red button. Only too late did Vector notice all the hidden panels placed along the hoverbike, all of them now furiously popping open and extending concealed weaponry. 

Nack's overbite leer peaked with insidious delight about the same time his overstrained engine dimmed away. The weasel's grin flopped into mush and he cast an oh-so-obvious puzzled glance at his metal steed. 

The hoverbike plopped on the ground with a jarring crash. Panic-stricken and befuddled, Nack bumbled with the controls, hammering at the ignition while Vector's thunderous march plodded dangerously close, eclipsing the weasel in his shadow. 

Vector planted his foot over the bike's headlight, pinning the weasel like a bug. Dissolved into utter cowardice without his weapons, Nack dropped his ears and whimpered, his fingers trembling. 

The crocodile bent over so close he could count the veins in those beady, watery eyes. One final growl gurgled up from his throat. "Git outta here, runt." His dominance asserted, Vector gave the bike a kick and turned away. 

A wolf's bark; the engine roared. Vector spun; met the bared teeth and itchy trigger-fingers revving the accelerator. The rivals stared each other down one last, long time. Nack snapped on his riding goggles and cranked the accelerator; unaware he'd shifted the engine into reverse. Handlebars ploughed into his chest and threw the weasel backwards down the toboggan-run street. 

A parting shriek as the weasel careened out of control, out of sight. "Yer on my list buddy, so watch yerseeeeelf!" 

Honking, falsetto shrieks and a crash echoed somewhere beyond sight. 

No one on scene moved just yet. Even Vector needed a moment to sort through the puzzling turn of clumsiness. A rustle at his shoulders, and an inquiry of safety from his chao wards woke him. "Ga-ba?" All eyes stared at the monstrous green Dragon-spawn, wondering what his next move would be. 

Very carefully, Vector detached the little globules into his palms. "Someone wanna come take these guys?" he hollered. 

A startled cry, and the longhaired human girl rushed up with her groceries. She dropped her bags and very hesitantly reached up – as though the chao were bait for a steel-jaw mousetrap – but the exchange went without trickery or violence, and two chao soon snuggled happily in her teary-eyed embrace. 

"Thank you," she whispered, struggling the words out above fear and prejudice. "Thank you." 

Vector just smiled like a dopey loon, happy to see the family reunited. "No problem miss, just doin' what I can." The untrusting eyes all around began to bother him, and so he tipped his headphones and turned… 

"No, wait!" The girl stopped him. "Wait – I have to give you something for your trouble. Would you hold them a moment, please?" The chao returned to his claws while the girl rooted through her purse. For the first time, Vector could afford a close look at the young pets – siblings, the two of them, judging by the matching pattern of yellow bands running across their winged backs – one pure white with droopy, antenna-like topknots and a sparkle of kindness in its glassy eyes; the other ash black and twisted antenna, snickering mischief in its muddy blue eyes. 

The black one flashed a smile of butcher-knife teeth and took a bite of Vector's thumb, giving Nack's screaming a close rival. "YEOW!" 

The girl looked up from her search. "Heel Piranha! Down boy!" In the end, she had to pry the feral chao off the crocodile. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "Piranha was just giving you a love-bite; he must like you a lot." 

"_Lady_, I know love hurts, but it don't need no tetanus shot!" Thankfully the incident gave an excuse to return the black and yellow devil-imp - the chao creeped him out. 

That left the yellow-white chao – Aurora, he recalled – in his possession. The angelic little girl had curled up pleasantly in his monstrous, gloved claws, trusting him enough to give out a sleepy little yawn and close her eyes. So content. The chao looked so at ease, so at home. 

Vector felt dizzy and nervous; he began to hyperventilate. Cradling her baby, the girl was doubly slowed in rummaging through her purse. "Look, ferget the money; no big deal," Vector gulped. 

"Oh, are you sure?" 

"Positive!" Vector held the sleepy Aurora as far from his scaly body as possible, fearing her touch like venom. "Look, just take the kid; I gotta go." Offering the soft little breakable chao to her owner, Vector bolted. 

He spared just one glance back at the girl cradling her striped chao. Gentle Aurora slept pleasantly over one shoulder, while opposite, Piranha watched, and grinned with a mouthful of saw-tooth fangs. He didn't know which alarmed him more. 

**

--------------------------

**

Espio's eyes shone poison upon his nemesis. The worthless seams of his gloves had the audacity to rip and unravel. 

Vector's chair and bureau were transformed into a tailoring workbench for the stingy chameleon. Thanks to his stubborn mending and patching, his clothing had gone unchanged for two years now. Vector called his boots putrid – Espio only smelled victory. 

He pulled the desk lamp to closer examination. There – the stitches had torn along his right index digit. Vector would have told him to junk it and throw money at replacements; how pleasurable it was to prove the croc wrong. 

Espio clamped the hole shut using the stapler. Three bolts proved enough, and he masked his nailing with an artistically applied strip of duct tape. 

He donned the glove and homemade metal gauntlet, loading the sheaths and pockets with small pens and kunai, proud of these wobbly contraptions he'd built of his own wit, and maintained through his skilled maintenance. As celebration, he turned up the volume of his calming techno CD and resumed his save file on Charmy's videogame (first casting a quick glance to ensure he was alone, of course). 

He'd followed Vector's instructions and pulled up some information for the computer-illiterate croc, but without any rich old ladies willing to foot the investigation bills, Espio frankly had no desire to work this "case", (if you could call it one) beyond the bare minimum. Vector and his crazy confidence thought something would arise from this "Ellie" lead. One of them had to keep realistic and see the idiocy behind this _Red Queen_, this name and a rumor. 

A buzz from the front door downstairs. Espio flicked on the intercom – yanked out of the wall and trailing cables to its new, accessible home on the desk. The nervous caller spluttered over the line. "Hello? Hello? Is this the Chaotix Detective Agency?" 

"State yer business." 

"No, not safe out here." The man's agitated breathing crackled over the line; Espio backed off as if spat on. "Please, I have to talk to the crocodile! It's important!" 

_Uh-huh?_ Espio plodded over to the window and stuck his head out at the front stoop; the caller was hidden under the awning, but that was a mighty fine convertible idling outside! He pounced on the intercom. "C'mon up," _moneybags,_ he added mentally. 

The caller was a human, (sadly), and this visitor with the handsomely chiseled visage fancied himself some sort of spy, judging by his hunched nervousness, the long and suspicious trenchcoat and the ridiculously wide-brimmed fedora fanning around his face. The urge to snort and laugh, and his melancholy over the client specie balanced Espio's face to neutrality. 

"C.D.A." he recited. "How can we be of," (he always had to force this part out) "be of sss_service_ to you?" 

The human locked the apartment door before speaking. He clutched one of their napkin business cards like a roadmap. "Um, hello. I uh, … is detective Vector here?" 

"Out on a case. What dya need?" 

"Oh – no, I'm not here to hire you, I … it's about Ellie Slater." A great debate warred inside the human's disguised head, but finally he conceded to opening his trenchcoat and handing over an anonymous paper parcel. Espio swiveled his eyes and caught a name card affixed to the man's suit pocket. _Manager._

"The janitor found this last night while he was cleaning the storage depot. Those agents the Guardians sent down must have dropped it or forgot to pick it up with the rest of her effects," he swallowed nervously. "Could you see that your employer gets this?" 

Espio leveled the man his dirtiest, most condescending glare ever. "Yeah, sure. I'll get it to _my boss_," he sneered. 

Relief was the only effect of his words. "Thank you," exhaled the human. "I don't know if it will be any help, I just pray you find poor Ellie first." 

Espio shoved him out the door and made sure to give a good slam. _What a waste!_ He tore apart the parcel, wondering what the human had fussed over so much. 

A book. An untitled, hardcover book with yellowed pages. 

What did that wormy little human expect them to learn from this? Peeved, Espio opened the cover, snorting at the print: _This Diary Property of:_ (and following beyond a scribbled-out first attempt came the shaky writing) _eLLie sLaTer_. A self-prescribed warning came lower: _for my eyes only!_

A diary. Worse, a little girl's diary, judging by the laughably poor penmanship. How _wonderful_ – inside awaited a magical gumdrop world of unicorns and ballerinas and tea parties, everything dolled up in pink, pukey ribbons and nauseating sweetness. He aught to incinerate the thing and watch it burn with pink, heart-shaped smoke. 

The first ten or so pages had been ripped out, and if he let the book open naturally to the center, an inventory of clothes and shoes and jewelry ticked down the page in rows – some sort of starry-eyed girl's fashion wish list. 

Despite his revulsion, Espio flipped to the first page. Oh sure, he'd pitch the thing in the wastebasket, but he felt compelled to read just a bit and confirm just how awful it was. The first entry came in sketchy penciling, with no respect for the blue-line boundaries of the page. Simple facts for a simple mind followed: 

_My name is Ellie._ (Duh, Espio retorted.) _I am 6 years old._ (Hurray for you, sweetheart.) _I have a mommy and an aunty, but no daddy._ (You say that like it's a bad thing.) 

_Tuday_ (sic, Espio added) _at school, Billy took my favorite toy and hit me._

Oh boo-hoo. Only for the sake of humor could Espio stand the simpleton drama. He flipped the page. 

_So I hit him back._

The cover snapped shut. Did she just say …? Obeying curiosity as strong as thirst, Espio dived in again. 

_Teacher made me say sorry, but I wasn't. He had it coming._

Almost against his will, Espio felt the leering grin pull his face to smile. A unicorn drank peacefully from a forest brook. A wildcat pounced and ate it. A prissy ballerina curtsied to complete her dance routine. A little girl walked up and gave her a good kick in the shin. A wild little spark of anarchy danced and skipped through the gumdrop trees, revamping everything pink with psychedelic attitude and neon paint! 

He _liked_ this girl! 

**

--------------------------

**

"Excuse me, ma'am, are you the Mrs. Slater who filed a missing child report seven years back? No children? Well, dya have a sister named Ellie … an aunt, then? A cousin? … Well I'm asking because … No, I am not _weird_ – look sister, we ain't even in the same city, so don't threaten … … hello? … Right." 

Vector hung up the receiver and crossed another number off his list. Who would have thought there were so many 'Slaters' in the country? The library stocked phone books from every major city in the province of Anova, but it sure didn't seem to narrow the search any. Well, time to try the names from Midvale city. 

"Excuse me, Mr. Vector." The 'dile spun and flashed a smile at the elder librarian. "When you asked to use the office phone, I didn't realize you'd be on for so long." She frowned. "Or calling long-distance." 

"Dolores m'dear, don't you worry that pretty little face o' yours," he smiled, hushing her concern with a charming grin and some improvised reasoning. "I mean, the library's a public institution, right? So the government picks up the phone bill, right?" 

A charmed smile and a consenting sigh signaled his victory. "This is only because you caught those boys drawing pictures in the history books," she warned. "You use your own phone next time." 

Vector smiled madly until she left, and then let exhaustion claim him as he dialed the next phone number. 

A frail, whispery female voice answered. "H … Hello?" 

"Good afternoon, Ma'am. Are you the Mrs. Slater who filed a missing child report seven years ago?" 

A frightfully hopeful whisper shivered through the receiver. "E … Ellie?" 

He brightened. "Yeah, yeah – that's the name. Is she your daughter miss uh," he checked the list, "Miss Maia?" 

"My Ellie …" The meek little whisper swelled with strength and rushed across the phone line in a random, panicked terror. "Have you found her? Do you know where she is? Oh my Ellie was such a good girl how could anyone just take her like that? She volunteered at the senior's center you know? Oh, all the other girls used to look up to her so; perfect grades, always so polite! …" 

And suddenly, a second, more collected voice interrupted. "Maia! What have I told you … give me that! Maia, give me the phone!" There were sounds of struggling, and of sobbing pleas and overpowering shouting. _"Stop it! Give me that!"_ A slamming door echoed over the line, and the second speaker assumed full control. 

"I'm terribly sorry; you'll have to forgive my sister – she's quite excitable. How can I help you?" 

Where did one begin after that sort of domestic violence? "Uh … this is the Slater house, right?" 

"Yes, Tea Slater speaking. Are you from Dr. Connor's office?" 

"Wha? No, no – lady, I'm a detective! I wanted ta ask some questions about Ellie!" 

"Oh," said the voice, and Vector could almost see the woman's eyes narrow. _"Her."_ The voice named Tea spat black disgust. "I presume child services is re-opening the case, yes?" 

"Uh, yeah," Vector fibbed. Official agencies always sounded trustworthy. "Yer uh, (well, I guess she's yer niece); she sounds like she was quite the success." 

A weary sigh. "Maia loved her daughter. When she disappeared … well, it was a lot of stress for a mother like her. She lives with me now; I take care of her." 

Vector conjured to mind the image of a frail old spinster with faded memory, living past days at random, muddling identities and time. "I'm sorry teh hear 'bout that." 

Tea's voice sighed, confiding her burdens to this attentive stranger. "My sister loved that little tramp so much, she refused to believe Ellie could be anything but her sweet little angel." Weariness hardened to bitterness. "Let me tell you, detective – Ellie Slater was a two-faced little leech with no respect for anyone but herself!" 

**……….**

Espio flipped to a further entry. 

_Mommy is all upset – she lost her favorite gold earrings today; she's looked all over the house and she can't find them.   
Isn't it funny? She doesn't even know I have them.   
I-know-something-you-don't-know!_

**……….**

"When she was still with us, I worked at a mall outlet. … That was back … back in – in Station Square." A sniffle of truthful sorrow, then righteous anger returned. "Oh, I'd see her skipping school all the time; shirking responsibilities. She and her little gang would do whatever they pleased … so awful to the other girls…" 

. 

_Knowledge is power. Guess whose mother waits tables at a greasy diner? I had Jennifer begging me to keep this our little secret - I made her cry, she was so ashamed. It's going to cost her. I love how much people worry about trivial little things – makes them that much simpler to twist._

. 

Vector meant to interrupt, but the voice released more. "… We were cleaning through her room after she disappeared. Thrown in the back of her closet, there was this pile of garbage bags, all of them full of fancy clothes and dresses and shoes. They were stolen goods, detective. The little tramp was a shoplifter!" 

. 

_Mother still thinks I volunteer at the old folks home. I can't stand those shriveled, wrinkled freaks losing hair, teeth, brains – withering away. It scares me. Shoot me if I ever grow that old! I don't want to turn into one of those rotting, drooling, broken mannequins._

. 

"She … disappeared?" 

"Left one night and vanished. Maybe some weirdo grabbed her, maybe she hopped a bus and just left. Maia – when she's in her right mind – still thinks she was kidnapped; she would never listen to me, to anyone; just shut us out and blamed herself for Ellie. …" 

. 

_I brought home a new pair of jeans … I grabbed some new shoes …_ Espio began to catch the love of euphemisms and began writing down all the items she 'acquired'. Sure enough, his list matched the 'wish list' catalogue recorded in the very center of the book. _Wish list._ More like a collection of bagged trophies. Ellie recorded boys in the same way, listing their names and length of relationship. None seemed good enough to last a month. 

He flipped to the cover page, to the statement of ownership and the first, blacked-out name before _eLLie_. He could almost make out a separate name … a, l, … Alice? Espio flipped to the leftover crusts of torn-out pages. Even the diary itself? 

. 

"I hope she's hurting," Tea confessed. "That little runt cost me my sister." 

He made inquiries of friends and contacts; possible leads until Dolores made her irritation known. Thanking Tea's voice, Vector hung up the phone. _What a sad, deluded little girl._

. 

Espio leaned back and shut the book. _What a cunning little rebel!_

**

--------------------------

**


	6. The Mouse Who Would Be Queen

_Isn't it fascinating – just when you think you've got everything; that you're on top of the world – how you always find something better, more worthwhile to go after? Life is such a thrilling little game!_

. 

Espio never talked to himself, or made phantom conversation, but he found himself nodding affirmative to these diary entries. Ellie Slater's optimism was something foreign and fascinating. She appeared to him as a vision of power – dark and rich purple scales, sleek and feminine. Her body was limber as a snake, brimming with strength despite her petite size. 

. 

Tuesday, April 12 _  
I was passing Holman's Jewelers after school and I saw the most beautiful necklace in the window – an eighteen-karat gold necklace with an emerald pendant. It stood out above everything else.   
I went inside, and asked to try it on. I felt dizzy with that gorgeous chain around my neck. It makes me look older, exotic.   
It would make a lovely little acquisition._

. 

Wednesday, April 13   
_So bored – bored, bored, bored of it all I just want more! – couldn't concentrate in class, just kept focusing on my necklace. I know the material, and I'm wasting my time waiting for all the idiots to catch-up. Had detention for "starting" a fight (little Jennifer decided to get brave). You'd think Mother would start to wonder about these sporadic after-school tutoring sessions, but she just keeps smiling.   
Once free, ran to see my necklace. I didn't go in – just looked though the window. They have it displayed on one of those mannequin busts, and when I got my reflection in the window just right, it looked like I was wearing it again. I was right (naturally), it does make me look more mature.   
Mother has some wonderful jewelry, but those trinkets seem so mud ugly compared to my new sweetie; I can't understand how I found all those things so fascinating when this gem was just waiting to be found!_

. 

Thursday, April 14   
_… The nerve of her! That bloated, alley-trash lard sac had the nerve to wear my necklace! I come down to the shop to check on my necklace and there she is – this overfed old hag trying the thing on like it's for show!   
I'm gonna need some kind of cleaner or polisher, something to get her greasy stink of my necklace.   
Made all the arrangements with Morty today – he'll buy the clothes I listed, so tomorrow's the big day.   
Hang on, baby._

. 

Friday, April 15 _  
She stole it…_

. 

The punctual entries stopped. Espio quickly flipped ahead, past a week's absence to the next entry and its crisp, clear and well thought-out penmanship. 

. 

_The date is April 22.  
First off, I need to declare that I am perfectly fine and of sound mind. If they ever find this, I want them to know I'm not crazy. See – my writing is perfectly clear – I fully understand what has occurred. _

One week ago, my necklace was sold – without permission – to a fat lady who lived across town. She was coming the next day to have it resized, then picked up. It devastated me; and I'm sorry I panicked like that. I wasn't thinking clearly.   
I was in a daze. I didn't go home – I just walked and kept walking. I didn't care where I was going – all I could think of was my necklace – my beautiful emerald-pendant, eighteen karat necklace, stolen the instant I had my back turned.   
I sold so much stuff; I gave away my CDs so I could take it; I sold so many tops to that pimply wreck Jennifer just to get the money. And it was gone.   
It started to rain; I didn't care – I just kept walking. I might as well have been one of those senile old creeps at the old folks home – dead and rotting, but still breathing. 

I made my way back to the store. I didn't care it was raining; I just had to see my necklace. I curled up in front of the shop window and just stared at it. Just an inch of glass and I couldn't even press my palm to touch it. I tried to imagine myself wearing it again, tried to get the reflection right, but the storm made it so dark I couldn't make anything out. 

And then I started thinking about that fat hag, thinking about her, those thick glasses and that awful hair – thinking about her wearing my jewelry like some sort of trophy. I felt like I was going to cry, but I couldn't. I only breathed harder and faster until I couldn't feel anything but this hot, crazy anger. "She wasn't going to have my necklace," I remember thinking. 

Funny how those words seem so meaningless to me now, but back at the time I swore I would have breathed fire. 

I just wanted to lash out and hurt something. The sidewalk was in bad shape outside the store; splinters off the edge were crumbling off. Well, I picked up the biggest of those concrete chunks and my body just followed through with the rest. I threw it.   
Right into the window.   
It shattered. 

In movies, the whole window shatters like ice the second a little pebble even touches it. I only made a little hole, circled with spider veins. But it was just big enough for my hand. 

All I wanted was to touch it; stroke my baby one last time before they took it away. But once I put my hand through the glass; once I touched that necklace, my body just took over again, and I grabbed it. And I couldn't let it go. And when I pulled my arm out, well, it came right with me. And I started running and running. 

Mother had stayed up to wait for me, but she'd passed out on the kitchen table when I crawled back in. The next day I told her I'd been at a friend's house and lost track of time. She bought it, of course. 

I was in the paper next morning. Fifth page in – I guess no one else thought as highly of my baby to give her front page attention. It was enough to scare me sick.   
Maybe I was sick. I spent two whole days bedridden, feeling like I was going to throw up. All the time I thought 'they were going to come and get me'. The police. On day three, when I had enough sense to know they'd check my house first, I got dressed and bolted. Not for school, like I told mom, but to get away. I walked around downtown for the longest time, hoping I'd melt away in the crowds, or in the malls. I was so afraid of going home, of being seen.   
Lucky for me it was a weekend. Mother bought the 'sleepover' story once again when I came back.   
And I finally realized it: I'd gotten away.   
It was just like that time – six years old – when I took Mother's earrings without asking. She never found out, she lost interest, and I got away.   
I had stolen something priceless, and nobody cared enough to find me. 

I bet I could do it again. 

. 

Only when Espio closed the book did he realize he'd been hunched over the little diary – slowly drawn in by the voice already so familiar – until his face threatened to fall into the pages. He settled back in his chair, closing his eyes and imitating the meditation poses used by the characters in his magazines. If he could juggle math as well as he juggled knives, then according to the diary entries, the Ellie behind the pen was eleven and a half. 

Remarkable! 

The age didn't surprise so much as impress the chameleon – at twelve, he'd accomplished marvelous feats of independence, but this Slater girl had beat him to the punch by a long shot. 

Eleven was just the turning point, the necklace the first item in her book of euphemisms she considered 'stolen'. Oh, but she'd been busy 'acquiring' long before this piece; this was just the first to involve property damage, garner attention and jostle her sturdy conscience. 

He liked this little girl, this tough little spitfire with an independent streak like a scar. She tackled life by her own course and let no one push her around; she spoke her mind and never minced sweetness, and she could bait fools like worms on a hook! Best of all, she never settled for second best. Always she pushed herself – studies, social status, or the challenge of _"hunting"_ as she termed it – of taking what she deserved without permission and without consequence. Life was her roller coaster and she delighted at every thrill. 

Aggressive, unafraid, chiseled out above the rest – who was it this girl reminded him of? He knew it was someone dear to him… Moving on automatic, Espio's claws stroked his chin ponderously. His eyes swiveled to the touch and he pulled the hand away, regarding it carefully. 

_Ah yes – of course!_

And then the bumbling footsteps of mediocrity clomped to the door. _Oh great…_

**……….**

Vector hummed a tune through the hall, repositioning his groceries to fish out his house key. Behind the door, feet scurried across the floor and a locker slammed in a hurry. He unlocked the apartment and found Espio in the office, leaning casually against the croc's desk and shuffling a stack of papers as though the task had occupied him for some time. 

"I don't care if ya play teh kid's video games, Horn-Top. Quit sneakin' around!" 

A preposterous grunt. "I don't waste my time on kiddy stuff, Fat-Head." 

Smirk. "Sure ya don't." Vector shoved the lizard off his desk to drop the sack of groceries. "Any calls?" he inquired while popping a CD into the boom box. 

For a moment, the chameleon's eyes hesitated on a hastily closed locker. "No," he swallowed, almost mute under the pound of jazzy rock music. "No callers whatsoever." 

"Great!" declared the croc, pulling food tins from his paper package. "We need ta focus everthin' on this Red Queen case! Phew, I'm starved!" 

Espio flicked out his tongue to catch the taste of Vector's breath. His face wrinkled. "You've been snacking again," the whispery voice accused. "Are you _sure_ you're a Reptile? I swear – you stuff your face so much, sometimes I think you have to burn your own body heat like those _Furrys!_" 

Vector chose to disregard that last comment. "This Ellie – I just don't get this kid, Esp. I found the girl's family t'day an' talked with her aunt. Sad story: mom loves her ta pieces – gives her teh world, an teh kid turns inta bully an' a thief! Don't respect nobody – least of all her mom, poor thing!" 

"Mother was probably a stupid, simple fool. You can only look up to them for so long." 

Vector turned a puzzled eye, and Espio hoped his face downplayed the irritation at the croc's inaccuracy. The Ellie he knew nitpicked and criticized everyone as beneath her, but as a growing youngster she did respect and admire her mother. For a while. Only two other people stood in the same high regard: Morty, some sort of shop owner or dealer (boyfriend, maybe), and Jairdan, a mentor mentioned only in the final entries. 

The croc finally shrugged and nodded reluctantly at the interpretation. "Poor girl," he sighed. "Y'do so much, an ya still can't bring 'em up right…" 

A tap on the window went unnoticed under Vector's music. "I don't get it," he lamented. "I mean, sounds like she's a rich kid – well off, at least – but she goes around shopliftin'. … Sounded like she worked her way up: mom's jewelry, stuff from her friends, from the mall…" 

"What's not to get?" quipped the devil's advocate. "It's fun sneaking around! She got caught takin' Mother's things – she gets spanked. So she learns not to get caught. She gets bored eventually, and starts going after better things, after the challenge." Another weird look from Vector. 

"Course, I'm just guessing," Espio added. Charmy increased the volume behind his banging, and Vector opened the window to let him in. Espio continued. "I mean, weird isn't it? When you think you've got it all, you still find something better to go after?" 

Crocodile slammed the window shut, speaking with his back turned. "Things're fine teh way they are. They don't need ta change … or grow up inta someone rotten." 

"What're you talking about? You can't get stuck – you need to go for the best; take everything you can!" 

Now Vector was just plain confused. "We still talkin' 'bout teh girl, or you?" 

Smirk. "Right back atcha, V-man." 

Charmy buzzed around the room on a completely separate wavelength from the Chaotix; if any were listening, he muttered over a case of missing crayons. 

Vector pulled the last tin from his bag, muttering to himself. "If we could just figure out where she's hidin'… Huh, I guess teh sky's teh limit when yer a mammal …" 

It was the first time they'd discussed Ellie's specie. "_Mammal?_" Espio's skin jerked to a vomit green. "You mean she's a _furry_?" 

"Course she is!" Vector handed over the headshot Beth had printed that afternoon. "What didja think she was?" 

A cruel shock passed over the chameleon. Espio tore his eyes from the photograph and thrust it to the crocodile like something vile. "Hmph. Never mind," he muttered. The paper fell to the ground and caught Charmy's attention. Overlooked by the grown-ups, he picked up the picture and studied it carefully while Espio tried to reassess the situation. "So – this girl we're after, she's a marmot?" 

_Huh?_ "Whaddya talkin' bout? She's a mouse!" 

"Oh, like you're a real good judge – remember Mighty the Aardvark and Ray the Chipmunk? She's a marmot … maybe some albino ferret." 

"A mouse!" Vector refuted. Truthfully, he was only going on Beth's word – mammals were so homogenous he couldn't tell a fox from a coyote. (Midget humans with fuzz, tails and a bad dye job, quote Espio.) Not that he was about to admit that with Charmy around. 

"Ferret!" 

"Mouse!" 

"Ferret!" 

"Wow! Vecter, she's a fox!" 

All eyes dropped to the little honeybee and his poster-sized printout. Espio snatched the picture and the adults dispersed, leaving Charmy yet confused and wondering if he'd got it right. 

**……….**

Vector and Espio moved their business to the coffee table, now serving as a sort of campfire as Vector prodded the canned food cooking over the hot plate. Like a housecat absorbed in its separate world, Charmy occupied himself by the equipment lockers, kneeling over a drawing and coloring in the lines. 

The crocodile relayed his day's investigations with Beth and Maia Slater, and his harsh interpretation of the young Queen, raising guarded frowns and snorts from Espio – and finally an exclaimed look. "So the girl was kidnapped?" This was news to him – Ellie had written about leaving home and beginning a new life, but it all sounded too energized and eager for someone snatched up against their will. 

"Y'know, the Mom scares me 'bout as much as teh kid," Vector confessed. "When teh girl left home, they found all teh clothes and stuff she'd stolen in 'er closet. Kid was a regular packrat; would've had a nice Wanted poster made fer her once police learned about it all. Well her mother, she takes all the stuff, all teh evidence, and she burns it in teh fireplace. 'Cause she didn't want ta see anythin' but her little angel…" 

Espio was more interested in sampling the stew than commenting. Vector whacked him with a spoon. 

_"An _He_ gave teh Dragons great patience, t'endure the scourges of time,"_ quoted Vector. "Yer ancestors musta played hookey on that blessin'!" 

Espio replied with a five-inch long raspberry. 

Vector decided he had a good taste-tester for an idea sifting through his mind. "Hey – picture this: five years back, Red Queen steals teh Hope Emerald, right? But what's she gonna do wit it?" He made a fist to illustrate the gemstone's remarkable size. "Tryin' ta sell a rock that big; that well known? No chance! 

"So she cuts it up inta pieces, invents Arya Rane, an hides her stash ina museum. Poifect hidin' spot!" He awaited Espio's opinion. 

"So these latest robberies – one big treasure hunt? Digging up all the jewels she hid?" 

Vector nodded, and on the spot another idea blew his mind. "Wait-wait! Ahm on a roll here – teh banks an museum's don't know she's stealin' her own stuff – all they're worried 'bout is forkin' over insurance money ta teh owners! She gets her stuff, _an_ she scams the joints! Mouse doubles her cash!" 

Espio imagined the workings of such a con. Ellie was certainly brilliant enough to pull that off, but "You're thinking too much Fathead." 

"Well let's here yer story!" 

A shrug. "I got lots – maybe calling up a bank teller and making a withdraw is just boring. Maybe she wants a challenge. Maybe she's afraid to be seen with G.U.N. going apocalyptic on any little crook." And his personal favorite, "Or maybe we're chasing someone who just wants to stick it to the Guardians?" 

"Yer doin' a lotta thinkin' fer a guy who told me teh Red Queen was a waste o' time this mornin'," pried Vector. "Why teh change?" 

Espio tossed a kunai to the air and caught the spinning dagger. 

"Oh, by the way," he went on after his blanked reply, "I ran those 'net searches at the library like you asked; checked out all the foreign newspaper archives. Four years ago, the Northern Dominion had that same calling card – Queen of Diamonds – show up at a bunch of big jewel heists. Guess our girl went out abroad." 

Vector nodded and skimmed over Espio's news-clipping printouts. "She never quit, just went lookin' fer a new neighbourhood. Okay, what about that other job I gave ya?" 

Espio feigned innocence. "Other job?" He tried to test the food again, and Vector beaned him on the head this time. 

"Ahm talkin' 'bout _you-know-what._" He spoke guardedly, still expecting commandos to break down the door. "You got rid of _It_, didn't cha?" 

The creeper's voice was casual and unconcerned. "You mean the Enforcer's ID? Don't worry, you won't see it again." 

The 'dile didn't care for that kind of sneaky equivocation. "You got rid of it, _right?_" 

"It will never bother us again," he yawned, examining his claws. 

That wasn't good enough. "So ya _disposed_ of it?" 

Bored of the interrogation, Espio threw his feet on the table and fiddled with his wrist gauntlets. "We got the Intel we needed; I don't have any more use for the card. What dya want me to say?" 

"So _it's gone?_" 

"Yes," he huffed. "I can be a good little boy and be afraid of everything too, y'know." The snarl from the crocodile meant match point for Espio! 

Steam wafted off the can of Professor Chao's Beef-Berry Surprise (a googley-eyed, propeller-head chao on the label gave cooking instructions. "To open the can, use a can opener!") So Vector dolled out the brown mush to their plates – a cracked china dish, a soup bowl and a Frisbee. Smelling food, Charmy instinctively dropped his work and joined them. 

Crocodile and chameleon began their nightly routine of picking through their plates and exchanging unsavory bits. Vector got the lumps of meat, Espio the wedges of fruit. Both could stomach hotdogs, and so they assumed the brown, ground-up bulk of the meal to be fair game. Charmy took his plate over to the coffee machine and added sugar cubes over his mush the way a normal person added croutons to a salad. 

They never spoke over dinner, but only because the sight of any food, however thin, was too much not to obsess over. Dinner preparations were known as the calm before the storm. 

Wild wolves had better table manners, although whenever Espio grew conscious enough of his roommates eating habits, he would immediately slow down, straighten up and resume his dining in a calm and dignified manner. Sometimes Charmy took notice and followed his lead, trying hard to match the chameleon's meditative posture; tonight, he mimed Vector's ravenous wolfing; when the croc shook the airwaves with a thunderous belch, Charmy proudly followed up with a sort of baby hiccup. 

When their plates were emptied, and their bellies stuffed with more junk than their office, only the honeybee dared speak on behalf of the group. "I'm still hungry!" he whined, rolling on the ground in a show of mock pain. 

Vector was too busy licking clean the inside of the can to give any attention. 

**……….**

After-dinner activities divided them into their camps again. Vector and Espio quarreled over clean up, and amidst the arguing Charmy retreated to the front reception room and his own little amusements. 

"While you were locked up, I saw the scamp pulling padding out of the couch and stuffing it in his helmet, like cotton plugs or something," Espio confided as he gathered the dishes. Vector immediately inquired if the couch in question was his bed. It was not, and the croc lost all concern. 

Espio pried again. "Ever notice how he always visits the roof before he comes back for the night?" Vector had not. "You know, if the kid weren't so stupid, I'd say he was up to something." 

Vector would have smacked the chameleon if he weren't carrying breakables. "Kid ain't stoopid, he's just … well, learnin'!" 

The conversation had taken them to the moldy linoleum bathroom; Vector ran the water and Espio dumped the dishes into the rusted sink. "So you're gonna try tutoring him again? C'mon – last time you tried that with the little sugar addict, it lasted a week, and then you forgot about it. Commitment ain't your thing." 

Vector flicked the chameleon's head and left the dishwasher to his duties. There was work to be done. He sat behind his desk, switched the boom box to catch the evening news, and started examining the articles Espio had printed up at the library. Vector was immediately annoyed to find the job shoddy and lazy – the creeper had apparently run a search and printed any random data containing 'Red' and 'Queen'. Paint catalogues? A History of the Acorn Family Monarchy? _Oi vey!_

At least Charmy seemed to enjoy his evening read. The honeybee had built himself a fort out of the torn, garage-sale paperbacks and old high school texts Vector had tossed into the kid's shoddy library. His little button nose was currently buried in a favorite picture book, _The Town with no People._

Vector's attention drifted to the boom box. It was open forum over the radio. Tonight, a panel of critics spared with a Guardian commander over the recent security step-up. They declared the general of turning from law enforcement to vigilante tactics – of attacking select criminals while allowing others to go scot-free. 

The general scoffed at the accusations and offered the usual defense. "Absolute nonsense! Our military's active presence is a necessary precaution toward the safety of this new world! Without our emergency powers, why, we never could have pursued and killed The Terrorist's black hedgehog accomplice!" 

The commentator loosed a single laugh. "General, you can't even keep our banks safe from petty break-and-entry! Who's to say that the Military Division can keep us safe from The Doctor?" 

A civil round of clapping, and a nod of _here, here!_, but not from the radio. Vector glanced up to find Espio advancing, a triumphant little smirk on his face and dishwater dripping over his claws. "Everything is finally gonna blow-up in their faces! About time, too! 

"By the way, I printed up those _extra_ papers you asked about." His tail handed over an anonymous file of papers. 

Espio's unusually good mood had caught Charmy's interest. "Hey, what's that, Vecter?" 

The croc's tail jolted with a frightened tapping. "Nuthin'!" he blurted, quickly hiding the file into a drawer. To make matters worse, the phone rang. Vector reached to answer. 

Espio reacted like a dog to a whistle and went crazy. Releasing manic reflexes, the chameleon leapfrogged onto his desk; pounced for the phone – nabbing and bear-hugging it to his chest like a child – and followed through with a corkscrewing dive to safety, rolling on the ground as if he'd leapt from an explosion. 

Very calmly, he picked up the phone. "Yeah? … Good, I was expecting you. You have a good deal of explaining to account for." A glint of light flashed across Espio's scheming eyes, and Vector observed his voice and mannerisms change into that exaggerated and intellectual ego from the museum. 

"You informed me the subject was a _reptile_!" the brown-scaled Espio hissed through the receiver. Vector just watched one-half of the conversation in confusion. "… Yes? So you've done further testing? … Of course I want to kno … Atelerix? What is that, some kind of rat? … Oh, never mind; it's a mammal, isn't it – they're all the same! … Yes … yes … no, dispose of it – we're done here. Don't bother me again unless it's with real results!" 

The phone slammed down and Espio made a show of being as obtuse as possible as he dropped it back on the desk. A collection of shuriken fanned from his fingers and hurled at the dartboard, one frustrated throw after another. 

"Okay – so you were right," Espio snapped. "She's a mouse! Rub it in all you want!" 

Vector still hadn't recovered from his spell of confusion. "Who just called?" 

"A G.U.N. forensics lab," Espio replied nonchalantly between shots. He was out of ninja weapons, and down to hurling pencils. "Idiot humans were running some tests on that blood sample from the museum. They call me this morning and tell me she's a reptile – now it's a mammal! Can't identify the DNA, though – sample keeps clotting up in their stupid machines!" 

That was the last Espio spoke before the Fists of Death closed around his little neck and pulled him off the ground. _"You gave teh Guardians our PHONE NUMBER!"_

Espio tried to explain that he gave out the "Enforcer's" contact number – and all in the interest of solving the case; that only one snot-nosed scientist knew whom to call, and that there was no chance anyone should be suspicious, or think to trace the call. It all came out the same, though – a strained, gargling splutter of a throttled rag doll. 

This time, the creeper managed a lucky shot, and booted Vector in the stomach. The croc staggered back and knocked heads with the ceiling fan, ripping the fixture and leaving it dangling by its electrical cords. The Reptiles rolled and wrestled to the floor; Charmy zoomed in pursuit, cheering whoever seemed to be winning. Both quickly ran out of breath and collapsed. 

Espio snorted and heaved his breath out, trying to calm his voice. "What's your problem? I go make the best of what we've got, and you act like I'm committing a felony!" 

"Well you _did!_" Vector ripped back. Stuck on his back, dizzying blood was beginning to pool in his head. 

"Well I'm just a spit in the bucket compared to what _They've_ gotten away with, _Vector!_" Charmy strained his wings trying to help up the chameleon, but he brushed the bug away and pointed two dead-serious fingers at Vector. 

"_Don't_ for a second think that that even one of the Guardians has our best intentions at heart! _Don't_ for a second think they're out there for anyone but themselves and their interests! And _don't you dare_ think they didn't deserve what I did; because they're scum, Vector!" He panted breathlessly. "Or did you forget, _once upon a time_, what they did to those people? – What they did to _us!_" 

No one had the strength to move after such a threat. Breathless and dead, the Chaotix lay in tension so thick; Vector struggled just to rise up, to clear the silence with a heavy sigh. 

"I ain't fergotten," he confided, drifting through the squalor to meet Espio's eyes so weary with anger. "Not fer a day." 

No one dared speak further. A silent truce established, crocodile and chameleon moved to clean the mess of papers spilled in their fight. Vector's eyes puzzled over one particular printout. "Hey, what's this?" 

He lowered his find to allow Espio's inspection. "One of the databases I printed up at the library, I guess – I just pulled up whatever I found. … _Franklin's Find'ums._" He snorted at the title. "Looks like a bounty hunting database." 

"Bounty huntin'?" Vector exclaimed. "Since when did they start lookin' fer jobs on teh Network?" 

"Oh, like I'd know? Makes sense to work through computers, though – perfect anonymity for everyone involved." 

Vector supposed a runt like Nack would benefit from hiding behind a buff avatar. "Old stuff here, though." _Smoker Kane, Backlash Brown, Nails the Rat_ – all these criminals he'd recognized from newspapers celebrating their arrests. "Looks like ol' Frankie ain't updated in three years!" 

He zipped to the bottom. "Hullo! _The Red Queen_ – there's our girl!" Vector read over the bounty. His jaw dropped. Espio swore he heard cash registers chime in the croc's head. 

"… Fifteen thousand reward…" Vector spoke in awe. "An' that's just fer _information leading to the arrest of!_" Franklin probably serviced freelancers, and his own private militia of hunters. "Fifteen thousand … we wouldn't even hafta catch her! Just figure out where she is an' send in teh hounds!" 

"The bounty's three years old, Fathead. Besides, I thought she's just an urban legend!" 

Vector had already scrolled down to the bottom of the page, too ecstatic to listen. "Look – there's a hotline number we can call! Ring 'em up; let's see if Franklin's still putting out fer our girl!" 

Espio wondered if Ellie ever had to put up with orders. He dialed the instructed number. Vector watched his disgruntled friend eagerly, tail slaphappy. 

"Hmph!" Espio reported. "Just a voice messaging system; they're transferring me to another line." Vector contained himself another long minute while the connection was made. 

Espio's eyes lost their cool. His skin spiked to hot pink. He slammed the phone back in its cradle. 

"What was that?" Vector exclaimed. 

"Nothing!" Espio jerked out, while his skin shivered all over the colour spectrum. The chameleon shuffled to the corner, crossed his arms and clenched together his badest face as he tried to calm his shattered nerves. 

Vector saw he'd have to check for himself, and redialed. A peppy female answered. "Thank you for calling! Please wait while we transfer your call!" 

Fingers drummed and tail tapped while Vector withstood the long wait with a listless frown. A smile perked on Espio's face with every passing second, and Vector took deep breaths to steady himself, knowing the chameleon hung in anticipation of his partner's frightening revelation. 

… Boy, the military march they played over the wait was catchy, vaguely familiar too… 

The transfer completed, and another voice message played, cool and intellectual. "Welcome, prospective hunter; you've reached the home office of Franklin…" 

"NAH!" Vector's heart screamed. He slammed down the phone, tore the line out of the machine and just to be safe, shoved it down a desk drawer. The voice – smooth and arrogant, sophisticated and conniving, was embedded deep in the recess his mind and filed under 'Danger!' His vision filled with the lap of water against the docks; the howls of a tortured soul and the flash of light across calculating, half-moon spectacles. 

His voice was weakened from the scream; he could only whisper it out. "Smithson … The Enforcer … _he's Franklin!_" 

Espio nodded gravely, and Vector just collapsed in his seat, weak and queasy and completely exposed. The weighty stare of every hoverpod in the city seemed to beam down over him. _What if they traced the calls?_

"You know," Espio offered, "G.U.N. must want this mouse girl pretty bad – what with hunting her since three years back." 

The chameleon was inept at sympathy, but Vector found the words strangely invigorating. "Yeah…" he muttered thoughtfully. He recalled the desperation imbued into even the Guardian's hoverpods. Clearly, they would stoop to any solution. Perhaps even accepting aid from the enemies they'd brutalized so long ago. 

It took a great courage to dial the forbidden number – Vector felt as if every hoverpod in the city were spying on him now – but he made a final call, and listened to the recording, jotting down the instructions for contacting and submitting evidence. He hung up. 

"Franklin's still in business," he reported. "Everythin's done wit computers – you send yer info over the Network, he transfers payment if it's any good." He steepled his fingers, deep in thought. 

"Suppose we open a new bank account … Vespo the Salamander?" 

**……….**

In the cool darkness surrounding his sleeping sofa, Vector mumbled in a heady half-sleep, writing up an inventory of the music he'd buy with Ellie's reward money. A small voice whispered his name. He frowned and shifted to lie on his back, so enraptured in his dreams that he did not respond until the little body scooted onto his chest and tugged forcefully on his snout. 

Vector woke, groaning reluctantly as he opened his eyes and squinted through the darkness. "What?" he grumbled offensively. 

Charmy's frightened, glassy eyes shimmered in the deep blue night. "I had the nightmare again," he whispered, huddled in a meek little bundle on the croc's stomach. "Can I sleep with you, Vecter?" 

He was tired and irritated, but he recognized the terminology. _The_ nightmare. "Go figure," he muttered. "I just had that one last night too." 

The honeybee awaited his consent with pleading eyes. Vector pushed out a relenting sigh. "Yeah, all right," he muttered, stressing the inconvenience this presented. Immediately grateful, the child shuffled up to Vector's neckline and buried his face in the hot and leathery skin, latching his limbs to the crocodile and holding on with unquestioning trust. 

Vector couldn't sleep a wink. He felt dizzy and nervous; he began to hyperventilate. Not until the grip on his shoulder softened with exhaustion could his heart settle to accompany the peaceful baby pulse tapping against his chest. 

Confident in the child's slumber, Vector detached soft little breakable thing from his body, observing how at this midnight hour Charmy's form remained blue and undefined, with antenna that bobbed over his head like a topknot. 

Vector clenched his eyes and pulled his headphones snug. 

**……….**

_A mammal._ The image cut through Espio's scowling mind like a deep wound. 

Well, no one was perfect. 

Tilting the pages to catch the electric lamp glow beyond the window, Espio fell asleep to the crowing penmanship of the Red Queen, beneath the tacked-up newspaper headlines and the story that ended in success and dark fame. 

_Locks are such flimsy little things. That job makes five for five! Everyone keeps asking where I get all this 'cool jewelry'. Ooh, wouldn't they just love to know!_

**

--------------------------

**


	7. A Time To Say Goodbye

Investigative work – like fishing – was a long and tedious process of waiting. You pulled all-night stakeouts following some paranoid dame's husband; you sifted through public-access legal documents and the Network; you hunted down and quizzed obscure family members – and always you were waiting – for a slip up, for a critical fact, for that missing piece that would solve the puzzle. 

A fruitless week dragged by in the hunt for the thief-turned-murderer who had vandalized the Corvalis Museum of Natural Sciences. The pursuers could only hope and continue their respective methods. 

As casually as possible, the Guardians of the United Nation stepped up security at airports and borders, boxing in their quarry while scanning the major cities with their swarms of metallic insect-eyes. In an obscure Intelligence Division office, telephone receptionists waited to accept tips and information for the bounty hunter guru _"Franklin"_. The Guardians held no scruples – kidnapping and torture, or disguising their agents to coax out informants – so long as they succeeded. 

Nack the Weasel confidently rooted his hunt within Corvalis – Vector spied the runty sharpshooter and his custom hoverbike speeding through traffic and towing a repulsorlift sled with a canvassed crate of large machinery. The Sniper had some elaborate mousetrap to assemble, it seemed. 

At the Chaotix Detective Agency, Vector tactly declined all other cases and dived into Ellie Slater's past for insight to the Red Queen's present whereabouts. Her aunt Tea Slater had provided him a list of young Ellie's schoolmates, and Vector tracked each one down for that obscure pearl of wisdom that would bring down the Queen. 

And Espio just smirked darkly at the croc's shallow methods while he consulted a source much closer to the bone: the Queen's childhood diary. 

Sadly, paper, like flesh – was finite, and Ellie had written only so much before her diary simply ended. To be continued. 

At thirteen years of age, she wrote of Transcendence – a marvelous chance encounter that she claimed would change her life. The entries after that point were rushed and sporadic – stolen moments in a hurried life to report a key event (theft) – but it was clear that she'd taken work – work for an organization, and a loathed superior – in her pastime of Hunting. 

Ellie Slater's writing took a turn for the poetic before the diary ended: _I'm tired of these chains,_ she'd lament, _this world of locks and walls and boundaries! I won't be caged any longer – I want to spread my wings and fly, to dazzle as something great!_

She continued more somberly. _Did I ever make a mistake signing up for this. So long as I work for them – answer to them – they control me. And I'll be a servant until I die._

While Vector telephoned random college girls traumatized by young Ellie's extortions, Espio pursued the diary's three repeated names of three loved ones. _Mother._ The mother was senile, he gathered from Vector – no good. _Morty Arella._ A friend from Station Square – probably dead after the Great Chaos. Too anonymous to track, anyhow. 

That left one final name. Fighting back the gall in his throat, Espio sought out Vector's mammal friend in the police force and demanded a search. That Thursday, Espio took a cab to the Pine Forest Penitentiary for a visitation with an old frilled lizard by the _human_ name _Jairdan Aldon_, a relic of a criminal who'd enjoyed his glory days before Espio had even hatched, and the master thief Ellie had called _Teacher._

Slouched over in a visitation room halved by Plexiglas wall, Espio monitored the human guards escorting the half-pint prisoner for their chat. The chameleon eyed him over, finding fault in the lizard's lazy smile and relaxed strut – a definite limp was in his step and his tail dragged like a sock puppet, but Jairdan still marched like a man at peace, fully satisfied with his surroundings. Espio hated him immediately. 

A thin, snaky body callused with gnarled scales like blackened char. A pattern of orange veins scratched over his frame and his folded collar of skin like rivers of magma bubbling under rock. Jairdan was a dying flame, a fire long since reduced to flickering embers and cooling ambition. 

On better days, Ellie had called him an artiste – a connoisseur cat burglar who could pick a lock just by glaring at it. Otherwise, he was low-class trash that was satisfied with the filth of a small apartment and cheap food, and who was just too blasted cautious to have any real fun. Six years ago, this molting old lizard had been caught breaking-and-entering – and in exchange for a reduced sentence, Jairdan ratted out his employers – some of the most influential players fronting the Human mob. The underworld had been fragmented thanks to his testimonies. 

The guards left them, but Jairdan refused to sit. His aged, ember eyes traced over the young chameleon, studying Espio like a painting. 

"They told me I was meeting with a detective," Jairdan yawned, throwing Espio's very own bored and monotone speech in his face. A nasty smirk slithered over his face. "You must be the token reptile on the force. Must be nice change from writing parking tickets, eh Mascot?" 

Espio hissed. "Let's get one thing straight, _old man._ I work for myself. I don't grovel to some stuff-shirt _human_ for work like you did." He slid the Chaotix business card through the transfer slot. Jairdan limped over to study the napkin, humor entering his disgust. 

"Freelancer, eh … Ah, _Chaotix!_ You're the idiots who were arrested at the pier last weekend." The smile on his face stretched into a snicker and then sharp laughter. The veteran finally took his seat, collapsing into his chair from laughter. 

Espio shot up to retort. He had something scalding planned – _Get stuffed, fur-bait! You're the idiot who locked himself in a bank vault six years back!_ But as he stood and looked down, all that yelped out was a horror-struck, "Holy – what happened t'your tail?" 

The plastic chairs had a solid backing – for a reptile or anthro to sit, one had to curl their spine and slouch with one's tail dangling between their legs. Jairdan's black, ridged tail was missing a good third of its length, ending abruptly at his knees in a thick stump. 

The old lizard glared at his deformity; only a reptile could have noticed the anger and shame stinging his eyes. "Oh … That. It got stuck. In a door," he explained quickly. 

Espio's snort was a slow and sympathetic one. At six, a motorbike had nipped off the tip of his tail, and it had _hurt._ "Is it regenerating?" 

Jairdan turned his face away. "I … I don't know. A little, maybe. It's been almost four months since." 

"… Since the Guardians visited you?" 

The lizard was on his feet, fanning his frilled collar and hissing through the glass barrier. "I don't know who you think you are …" 

"Then listen up. I want info on Ellie Slater." 

A snort. "Never heard of her." 

Espio snatched at the files he'd brought, mashing the photograph against the wall. "This girl. The Red Queen." Something flashed between Jairdan's eyes, but he only snorted further. The chameleon pressed on. 

"The Guardians want her, old man. I want her! You tell me how to find her, and I'll put those high 'n mighty humans in their place!" 

His plea earned a single laugh. "Oh, of course you will, _Mascot_. Tell me," and he took a sort of defense in berating his impressive skills. "Let's pretend the Queen truly exists: an old, washed-up fool, and a creature of myth? What interest would she have in me?" 

"You trained her." 

"Absurd!" he rebuked. "Why would you believe I birthed the Legend?" 

Now he raised a book to the glass. "She mentioned you in her diary." 

The old man's collar burst like an umbrella and he pounded the glass with a scream, his humble masquerade over. "Blast it – I _told her_ to stop penning those ridiculous books! I told her something like this – someone like _you_ – would happen!" Jairdan gave his head a final smash into the glass and oozed down into his seat, spitting out curses. 

Espio waited. 

The lizard slowly settled himself, regarding the remains of his tail in deep thought, massaging his snaky fingers and the sting of phantom wounds. 

"Natalie was brilliant, skilled," he reflected somberly, gaining bite as he remembered "…but she had such utter disrespect for stealth! Oh, the sneaking in and avoiding security, she'd manage fine. But afterwards – ugh! Always wanted to leave some trademark – a memento, or something like those tasteless playing cards! Anonymity, low profiles – those are the keys to success in our work." He sighed. "But there was no getting around that girl's arrogance." 

Jairdan met his amber eyes with resignation. "I suppose this all began because I was a lousy gambler. Too greedy, and I took too many chances – racked up a debt to some powerful …" he searched for a euphemism, "powerful _human business families._ They made me pay my sins by working for them. 

"In the end, I suppose I impressed them – or maybe I just learned too much about the family business to be let go – and I became their private thief." Jairdan kneaded his fingers – long, curling digits perfect for gripping crevices and scaling walls. 

"It was all right, really. I couldn't negotiate my fees, and I had to live where they told me, but they looked after me and kept me happy. It was satisfying, overall. Then they brought me Her." 

The frilled lizard lazed his eyes up at the ceiling, picturing the moment. "One of their messengers showed up one night with a little girl. _Natalie Velika._ (Or _Ellie_, if that's what she calls herself now – I always assumed they forged her a new identity.) She's shoved through the doorframe with her little knapsack and I'm told I have an apprentice – that the Bosses want her trained." 

Espio interjected. "They kidnapped her?" 

Jairdan waved his hand in an 'iffy' gesture. "Doubtful – she was quiet at first, but hardly freaked out or broken like she'd been abducted. More like _forcefully detained._ Apparently she'd been selling stolen goods to pawn shops – losing all the boring bits of her collection – and she stopped by one of the joints fronting for the Family. I guess the Bosses were curious about this klepto child, so the next time she showed, they had the goons _pick her up_ for an interview. She told me they were offering training and income if she helped out with the Family's finances; kid seemed pretty excited, actually." 

A warm smile slipped over the lizard's countenance. "She was marvelous," he beamed, the proud parent. "I didn't so much as teach as I honed; refined. No assembly required, as they say. We were stuck together, the little runt and I." 

His snout curled into a sneer. "And _blast_, was she a little harpy! Yammering about what a slob I was, nattering about how 'disgustingly crass' the apartment was!" A smirk. "Natalie was impossible – nothing was good enough for that little witch." 

Jairdan had trained the girl prodigy a year before a revelation soured their relationship. "We figured out she wasn't my student," he sighed. "She was my replacement." 

_"I won't be caged any longer,"_ Espio whispered in reflection. 

"Yes, that sounds like her," Jairdan grunted. "Couldn't stand having someone Lord over her, always said the two of us deserved better. _Honestly_ – things were good, we were free to travel the city; it wasn't slavery or anything! Anyway – you know the rest: Jairdan gets sent on a bank heist, Jairdan locks himself in the vault; Jairdan becomes the underworld snitch." He snarled. 

"She tripped the alarm, didn't she?" 

The char-black lizard cocked his finger like a gun. "Bingo. One of those new computerized safes. We hacked the system open and set it to reseal afterwards. A five-minute window; that was the plan: Five minutes to loot the vault and leave. … She set the timer to four and a half." 

And then came the glory of a solo career. Once again, she left Espio struck in admiration. Eliminating her mentor _and_ their underworld Bosses in one swoop of trickery! And thanks to the loyalty and love she'd cultivated in this father figure, Ellie escaped unmentioned all these years – only to pain had he confessed her secrets. What a woman! 

Now came the question of the hour. "So, where is she now?" 

Jairdan answered as an idiot would. "Beats me. I've followed her career in the papers and on the news – I can pick out our style. I haven't seen her work since she grew out of those ridiculous calling cards three, four years ago. I assumed she ran overseas, back home." 

"What about now? These last months?" 

The question triggered a snap – a snap that oozed out the sarcastic, sophisticated master thief Ellie had so admired, one epicurean sneer after another. "Boy, would you do me a favor?" He asked sweetly. "I can't quite reach across this glass, so would you kindly slap yourself for me? _That's not my girl out there._" 

Now he was up on his feet, waving his arms and ranting in defense of his art. "I mean, have you taken the time to consider this looter's tactics? They're _obscene!_" he retched, shuddering at this new, contemporary style of thieving. "Ripping apart security vaults? Panicking with automatic weaponry? Killing a man? Show me some respect, Mascot – I taught her better then those tactless displays of brutality! Our aim is to tread unnoticed, not to make a scene like some petty mugger!" He was pacing now, raving with the staunch pride of a parent for his star pupil. 

"I taught that girl to have some respect for our profession – She would never look up to such … such … street-trash tactics, never mind mimic them! No – I told that Guardian agent (that blondie with the flashy half-moon specs), and I'll tell you: That's not my girl out there!" 

"What about the Guardians …" 

"What about them?" Jairdan scoffed. "They're following the wrong lead. You're no Reptile – you're a sheep swallowing their every word!" 

Espio's temper itself prepared to snap. "Well what if she picked up some new tricks? You're just scared she found some other old hag to take lessons from!" 

Jairdan's eyes warbled, and his frilled neck quivered to be pegged so obviously. For a second, he almost whimpered like a schoolgirl discarded by her beau – heartbroken with rejection. Then his heart re-hardened and his face boiled to a snarl. 

"Then if it is her," he trembled, "Then when you catch her – you let her know she got what's coming for mixing such … cheap, tasteless violence into her techniques!" And then he settled. 

"Y'know, I like you, Mascot. You're not afraid to look outside the box – you're a survivor! There's an extra pint of Dragon in you, I know it." He beamed and added, "Remember, if you think something is impossible, then you're too frightened to see every possibility. I told Natalie, and I'll tell you: There is always a way out!" 

The geezer dared to give him a sermon? "You're a waste of flesh, old man!" 

"Funny," Jairdan smirked. "That's exactly what she said." 

**……….**

Espio retreated to his taxi in fury. The words of the senile old lizard left little impression in his mind – the man was happy living his life in a box; what right did that bum have lecturing him? 

And why couldn't he remove the fool from his mind? Like an ocean wave, his thoughts sloshed over the same image – of two reptiles separated by a glass wall like a mirror, the young inquisitor staring down his elder reflection. 

And suddenly, the endless waiting of detective work hit pay dirt – and Espio scrambled for the diary of Ellie Slater, flipping through his holy relic to speak the key passage aloud. 

_"Did I ever make a mistake signing up for this! So long as I work for them – answer to them – they control me."_

There was his solution – Stay and lead a life of apathy like Jairdan, or strike out and become King, letting no one burden his ambition! And here was his means, falling into place with mechanized punctuality – G.U.N. desperate to catch this embarrassment, and a reward of fifteen thousand to whomever gave the best tip. 

He didn't need Vector any longer. 

**

--------------------------

**

The scene at the office only solidified his plans: A new rock CD blaring from the boom box; and Vector reclining at his desk consulting some papers, gnawing at a bucket of chicken and swigging cola – wasting their precious funds on his short-lived indulgences! 

Waking from his junk-food euphoria, the croc waved gaily at the chameleon standing among the filth like an angry statue. "Hey, Horn-Top! Any luck wit that lead ya talked about?" 

"Some progress," Espio nodded. 

Vector took the message at face value and grew elated. "Just what I needa hear! I ain't had no luck wit Ellie's old friends. Nadda! I'm runnin' outta ideas here." 

"Giving up?" 

The little tease got the croc bellowing with mountainous resolve, "Never!" 

Espio's smile was beyond will to control. "Then it's time to cash in a favor." 

Charmy had been in the office all the while, though the detectives only just became aware of the honeybee – grunting and struggling at the window like an inept weightlifter, straining his baby limbs to open the sill. Vector slid his chair over and unlocked the latch. The boy escaped with a whoop, and the crocodile returned to his partner, avoiding all eye contact with the honeybee. Espio noted again how the kid flew exactly vertical, heading for the roof. 

"Now, what's this favor yer talkin' about?" 

"We're out of ideas here; time to start fresh." The small business card to a downtown music shop flicked from Espio's handmade gauntlets. 

"So let's go back to where it all began." 

**

--------------------------

**

They were men on a mission, the Chaotix, and pedestrian traffic wisely parted for their determined march. Espio stormed in the lead, his posture proud and militantly upright, though the tri-crest helmet mold of his skull projected a hunched and glaring anger. If the crowds refused to step back for the shoving, pink rhinoceros with his lowered horn, then they retreated from Vector, able to lock eyes with even the tallest human and swinging his arms and tail like mace. The most telltale sing of trouble, though, was that the crocodile had shut off his headphones. 

_Harmonia Music_ was a two-story shop with living quarters on the upper level. "We're just here to talk," Espio recapped at the door. 

"Oh, he'll talk," Vector agreed. "After I'm through wit him, he'll be squealin'!" 

The friendly little door chime was poor foreshadowing for the shopkeep. A familiar gray rat kicking back on the counter brushed the bangs from his eyes and looked up from his magazine. Grinder jumped, recognizing the ghosts from his past. "NOT YOU GUYS!" 

Vector smacked Espio from his path and advanced with a righteous fury in his eyes. "Gatcha now ya liddle sneak! Y'ain't gettin' away this time!" Grinder squeaked and backpedaled from the counter, trying to throw the aisles of display instruments between the jaws of doom. 

"You used us!" Vector accused, cracking his knuckles while the rat panicked blindly through the store, babbling pleas for quiet and that he could explain. The croc pressed on. 

"I know who y'are, biker boy! That's right – I researched dem patches, on yer jacket back at the docks! Yer one of them _Black Cobras_; no-good, dirty smugglers an' thieves the lot a ya! Yer gonna get what's comin', ya lyin' little stink!" 

"Hey! Easy, V-Man!" Espio nabbed his idealistic partner's tail, dragging his heels and hoping to add some dead weight, but the leather juggernaut was too strong. Grinder's blind dashing backed him into a drum set; he toppled to the ground among the percussion equipment. Vector flicked his tail and swept Espio off his feet, yanking the chameleon along like tin cans on a string as he closed the distance to his prey. 

The door to the upstairs apartment crashed open. "Oi! What's all the ruckus?" A scruffy coyote barged on scene, flying down the stairs and glaring at the Chaotix, Grinder and his mess. The nasty dog matched the rat's original jeans-and-leather gang colours while his left hand (draped conspicuously with a dishrag,) gripped fiercely at a concealed weapon. 

Before Vector could reach for his holster, Grinder intervened with a mock laugh. "A-HA-HA! No problem here!" He picked himself out of his spill. "I was just ah, helping these customers and I uh, tripped is all." 

The coyote looked skeptical, but his stance relaxed. A glare of absolute revulsion crawled over his face. "You do your brother's memory proud, runt," he sneered. "Glad he can't see what a mess you've become." 

Grinder wore clothes of a proper fit this encounter, but he'd never seemed younger or more vulnerable to the Chaotix. It was not until the biker had left the scene with a slam of the upstairs door that the boy found the courage to stand and yell, "Oh Yeah! Well, well … I'm not just a runt, y'know!" He puffed his chest, feeling assertive. 

All his confident posturing flopped to mush once returning to face the Chaotix. Vector grabbed the kid by his black sweater and shoved the whimpering rat against the display cases. "Wait, don't! If Jet comes back, we're finished; all of us!" 

Espio agreed. "Fathead, we don't need trouble from the babysitter." The juggernaut conceded, and the chameleon went on. "Relax; we're here to talk." He flicked the business card at the kid, their proof of debt. "Okay kid, we need info." 

"Info?" blurted Grinder. "I … I, when I said I'd pay you back, I was thinking more along the lines of fixing your instruments, or, or maybe getting you guys some free CDs?" 

Vector snarled, tightening his hold. "I shoulda known! You got some noive, promising what ya ain't gat! When we're through, you an yer buddy are goin' straight ta the cops!" 

Grinder thought the threat a good joke. "The cops?" He tittered like a schoolgirl, still a little uneasy in Vector's hold but gaining resolve. "They can't lay a finger on me – Our lawyers would have me out in five seconds! Why d'ya think G.U.N. had to grab me at the docks like that?" Noticing he only provoked the crocodile with his bragging, Grinder tried a humbler appeal. 

"Look – I'm not a bad guy; I didn't do anything wrong! I just run this shop and collect packages for my Family – honest!" Espio's eyes grew interested at the choice of language. Grinder winced. "Shoot, I shouldn't have said that." 

Vector grinned with triumph, only to recoil and drop his catch as Espio ribbed his stomach. The chameleon quickly stepped between as referee, never imagining he'd be the one to do the smooth talking. "Look, just ignore Godjira, kid – he's got no colour vision; everything's black and white." 

"Yer a liar an' a sneak, and I aughta mash ya up like a bug!" Vector growled. 

"He's just a kid, Fathead." 

"I told ya, he's with the Black Cobras! Whaddya think he was doin' down at the docks, huh? Don't look like ya got any sister kidnapped, buggo!" 

Only the coyote's footsteps overhead and the din of hoverpods outside answered. Grinder sucked his gums and turned pleadingly to Espio – the lesser of two evils – for mercy. The chameleon only mouthed _you owe us._

The swelling had gone down over his black eye, but the bruise remained. Grinder touched his injury, remembering, and conceded. "I was … a call came in from this guy who wanted my family to handle some shipping concerns." 

"You mean, he wanted yer biker buddies ta do his smugglin'!" Vector declared. Espio kicked the obtuse puritan and nodded for the boy to go on. 

"Well, I …" The memory was difficult. "Look, I was the only one in town last week, and this sounded a big deal. I just wanted to do something for the Family besides signing packages and watching the clubhouse upstairs. I'm not a runt; I can help out!" 

"You make me sick – talkin' about the Cobras like they're a family! AAH!" Espio kicked the croc's other leg. 

"Did your … Family find out?" asked the chameleon, but only to assess the situation. 

"Kinda hard not to," the boy lipped, tapping his bad eye. "That's why they've put Jet up there playing babysitter. They haven't let me leave the store all week, they're worried G.U.N.'ll come after me again." 

"Get used ta bein' locked up, biker boy. It's all ya gat if ya stick with these creeps." 

Grinder exploded. "You step off! We take care of each other!" 

"Clamp it, Vector!" Espio waited a beat, and joined the boy leaning on the counter. The rat seemed to take some comfort in these sympathetic new divisions. No better time, then. "We need information on Ellie Slater." 

"Ellie Who?" His inquiry seemed nervous. Espio hissed and braced himself for another alias. 

"The Red Queen," Vector growled, shoving forward the photograph of a face hidden in lustrous white hair. "Ring any bells?" 

Mammals were so fatally obvious with their reactions. Even three years back when they'd been novices at the detective game, the Chaotix would have noticed Grinder's tiny hairs stick up on end, his pupils dilate and his floppy ears stiffen erect. It was no special training on their part – they were reptiles, raised to appreciate the subtle gestures possible even with armored scales muffling body language. Grinder with his warm-blooded hyperactivity was a neon billboard flashing emoticons. 

The rat stared into the photograph, and his quivering eyes relived a hundred memories in the space of an instant. 

He broke connection, shook his head and took a long, worried moment to gather his thoughts and control his shaky breathing. Vector inquired again. "Yeah – I know her," he confessed, a tremble in his hands. "She's younger here, but that's Amber Auryon – The Red Queen." 

"When did you last see her?" 

The boy suddenly developed a great interest in the footsteps up above. He refused to say anymore until – with a bit of head nudging and finger pointing – he lured the Chaotix to the storage room behind the shop. He was quick to explain once locked out of earshot. "My family doesn't know why G.U.N. grabbed me; that's the other reason why they're keeping me here." 

Now the Chaotix glanced up at the ceiling, and the spy above their floorboards. Both hunched close to hear his whispers. "You tell us everythin' you know," Vector ordered. Espio played the eager listener. 

The boy took that as excuse to launch into a history lesson. Even then, he stalled and planned his words carefully, and when he spoke it was with lock-jawed monotone. 

"Amber Auryon; she showed up out of the blue about five-six years ago. This was way back when the Human Gangs got towed to court; business was booming then, what with us filling in for all their suppliers. I really didn't understand things at the time – I was just ten – but Jax told me I should be happy, so …" 

Espio coughed to let the boy know he was rambling. 

"Right, the Queen. She, ah, well we hired her a few times." 

"She did jobs for you?" That seemed contrary to her solo philosophy. 

"Only to pay the bills," Grinder nodded. "And even then, she always wanted jewelry along with the cash pay. 

"It was nothing special, really – She was a freelancer, so, I mean she did jobs for all the gangs, just so long as the work was interesting. After she pulled that one job with that Echidnian vase, we even made her an honorary member." His smile was bittersweet. "Course, she never left her cards on those jobs – she told me it was disgusting; that she only wanted credit for what she got to keep." 

Vector nudged his partner. "See," he whispered in aside. "The station locker; the hidin' spots at her ol' apartment. Told ya she was a packrat." Espio however was more concerned with personal details of the then fifteen-year old Queen. 

"You talked with her. What was she like?" 

Here, Grinder gave his longest stop and stutter of all. He ducked his head, bangs veiling his eyes and finally decided, "I … at the time … I guess I thought what any other dumb ten year old would think. I idolized her." A bitter smirk. "I think I was her favorite – being the little guy and all. Always teased me and told me I was cute." 

"So yew were buddies." 

Grinder jumped to defense. "Hey, I'm no expert – like I said, we made her an honorary member, so was free to come around the clubhouses … I'd see her around. Sometimes." He swallowed carefully. "Yeah, she skirted around." 

"So this is why teh Guardians wanted you so bad." 

Grinder froze. They leaned in demanding answer. The boy chewed his lips raw, trying to find something to say. They pressed on, insisting by the debt he'd swore. Grinder finally caved in to his sense of honour, dropping his head and shaking negative. "No. No, they wanted me because I'm just another middleman. Because I could take them to the guy who knew all about the Queen." 

"Y'mean yer boss." 

Very slowly, Grinder conceded to raising his head, and Vector attributed the smile on his face, and the sharp gleam in his eye to some hysteric relief of penance. "Yeah. Yeah, you guessed it," he grinned, relieved of this burden. "My boss. He'd know her better than anyone." 

"How's about you set up a meetin', then?" 

The 'dile's demand was a shock, but the boy had unburdened his final secret, and could be merry. In fact, his heartstring seemed to flutter at this request. "It's possible," he nodded without his earlier reservations. "My family is having a kind of annual gathering in about two days. A party. Everyone'll be there." 

"Where?" 

"Just the grand capital of entertainment – _Las Adrianna._" 

"The Casino City?" 

"That's the one," Grinder beamed. "Look, ah, me and Jet are taking off t'morrow night. If you guys wanna show up," he grabbed a snatch of paper and scribbled down a rendezvous point, "I think I could convince him to let you tag along." 

Vector's disposition brightened with this sudden compliance. "That's what I like ta hear!" He stuffed the note in his jacket pocket. 

"Hey," the boy grinned with ease, guiding them back to the shop. "What did I tell ya – Grinder always pays his debts!" 

Espio kept silent all the while, and as Vector turned to leave, the chameleon glided towards Grinder, once more at ease behind the counter. The rat sensed no wrong, and even smiled at the chameleon who'd rallied as his advocate. 

Vector then noticed how polite the chameleon acted, giving a bow of his head. The most telltale sing of trouble, though, was that the creeper was smiling. Nothing leering, nothing scheming or arrogant – just an honest smile. 

He immediately hurried back. 

"Many thanks for your help, Grinder of the Black Cobras." The croc knocked over some instruments in his hurry, and had to stop and catch them. 

"You've been a great asset to our quest," Espio continued, "And truly it is we who are in your debt." Vector tried to steady the tuba, but it kept falling! 

"However," and the sage chameleon paused, closing his eyes and touching his palms, two fingers extended in a meditative pose. "Should your promise be false; should we find you absent one moon from this time… In short, should you dare to betray us…" 

His poisonous amber eyes snapped open. "Then you shall feel the wrath of my _awesome ninja powers!"_

Blades snapped between his fingers. Palms like steel fan blades raked the air – an arrowhead kunai torpedoed at Grinder, no chance to scream. Vector freaked! 

No sooner had he loosed his missile, Espio fired his whipcord tongue – snagged the hurling dagger round the hilt, pinpricks from the flinching rat's eyes. The gooey tendril recoiled back to the mouth; Espio clamped his teeth to catch the dagger. 

Vector took a long, apprehensive blink. Without his balancing, the tuba crashed to the floor again. 

A wicked leer grew at seeing the rat in such shell-shocked whimpering, and Espio made a show of spitting the weapon like a watermelon seed, nabbing it with his prehensile tail. 

"We have an understanding, furry?" 

Treachery or trickery was the furthest thing from the sweaty mammal's mind. Grinder bobbed his head affirmative, ears flapping along. 

In another flash, Espio sheathed all but the kunai in his tail, making a show of waving goodbye with his rear appendage as he departed in a calm quiet of noble power. 

"Oi! Let's go, bozo!" 

**……….**

Vector closed the door behind him, and by then, Espio could barely contain his charade. His skin bubbled and his mouth released the most awful, guttural wheezing like a smoker's cough. He was laughing, of course, but coming from Espio, the delight sounded like a hoarse hacking and coughing, as though this function were weak and dry from disuse. 

Vector walked beside while his partner gagged and choked himself with his twisted comedy. "Oh man, did you see that kid, V-Man? Have you ever seen a mammal sweat so fast?" His pigments morphed to ghost-white sheets, and he spun his chameleon eyes and dangled his long tongue like a party streamer, howling in ghostly tones, _"Oo-o-o! I ahm a neeenja and I ahm vewy, vewy scaway! Beware! Beware!"_

The knives sprung from their hidden pouches and he waggled his scissorhands in Vector's face. 

"Quit clownin' around, Yuffie!" 

With an aloof snort, Espio, folded up to his tight-back stride. "Loosen up, Fat-head – s'not like I would have missed or something," and he illustrated by juggling his collection of knives as they walked, tossing the blades from hand to hand; even over his back to his tail with practiced choreography. Vector refsed to be bought over. 

"C'mon! Let's have a smile, crocodile! We're about to bag the Red Queen! We'll be rich!" 

"You'll waste it all on yer stoopid comic books." 

"Same goes for your stupid music." 

Vector responded with a playful shove at his head. Espio staggered, but then came back with a side tackle. Vector sidestepped and he hit a wall. Espio just leapt again, banging Vector into a trashcan. 

Neither could help but laugh as they continued their play-wrestling, bashing each other like kids in bumper cars. Espio almost won when he forced Vector off the sidewalk, but the croc managed to yank his tail and take him for a spill as well! Hooting and hollering, they tumbled into the street, immersed in their play until a honking semi-truck made them freak. 

**……….**

"Las Adrianna – I wouldn't mind living there." 

"Keep dreamin' – y'd need thousands just ta keep a nice room there." 

"Yeah. Thousands…" Espio's eyes gazed wistfully at the orange horizon. "Hey V-man, why don't I go solo on this one? You can hang out here and watch the office." 

"Nadda chance, partner. I'm followin' this Slater business ta the end." He did not see the chameleon grit his teeth. 

Considerably quieter in mood, they tramped their way down Downhill street until a jarring thought butted into Espio's head. 

"Hey," he said, noticing a passing child and her chao. "What about the kid?" 

Vector repeated that same epiphany. "Hey – that's right; I never thought'a that! I guess we'll hafta leave some food out fer him or somethin. Can he use a can opener?" 

"Who knows. We'll have to leave out a water dish too, maybe." 

"Maybe we just open a bunch before we leave?" 

"What about those dog-bowls that open up on a timer?" 

Vector was too excited over capturing his crook to give it much thought. "Meh – we'll work somethin' out laiter. Right now, Esp ol' buddy, you 'n me are gonna cel-e-brate!" 

They crossed paths with Old lady Dolores, hobbling out for groceries before sunset. When close enough, the shriveled prune drew up her walking cane, whacking Espio on the head and bopping Vector on the stomach. "You ungrateful beasties! You aught to be ashamed of yourselves: playing such poor hosts to your guests! I had to let in that poor young man all by my lonesome self!" 

The befuddled Chaotix shrugged off the encounter as a random outburst of senility and limped onward. 

Shade the Cat loitered in his usual corner 'neath the apartment stoop, and had a bone to pick as well. The building manager got to them first though, hollering from his suite's window on the top floor. 

"Crocodile! You've got some nerve! You're renting from me – and if I ever hear another racket like that, you're out! Final notice!" 

This second berating left the Chaotix equally confused. Shade spared a glance from his nails to join the stoning. "Hey, quit with the puppy faces, _detectives_; yer 'bout as innocent as a wild dog! Everyone on my floor heard your little party – sounded like you dopes were smashing plates!" 

Grinder's music shop lay on the opposite side of the bay; they hadn't been home for hours. 

The manager pressed on. "And another thing – don't thin you can shirk rent this month! I know you've got work: I saw your client come in today!" 

"Client?" But the window slammed shut over Vector's protest, leaving the smarmy cat Shade to fill in the gaps. 

"Hello? That human in the suit – the dude with the black van? I swear, only someone as brain-dead as you _detectives_ could miss that!" 

The putter of Hoverpods within the city had never seemed louder, or closer than this instant. Espio leapt to interrogation. "When did the van show up? How long were they here?" 

Shade's first response was an apathetic yawn. "Gee golly, I'd love to help you, _detective_; I sure would, but I can't seem to recall." Shade rewarded himself with a generous cat-stretch. "I sure don't remember seein' em leave." 

A glance between the Chaotix beamed a relay of unspoken understandings. Fighting off their sluggish night metabolism they burst through the front doors, immediately hugging corners and flattening against walls. Espio merged colours with the creamy stucco and Vector drew his tazer to the ready. 

Outside, Shade treated himself to a howling laugh as the wacko leatherhides leapt and ducked around the lobby like paramilitary commandos. 

Every creak in the floorboards was a trigger for a silent alarm. They crept painstakingly slow through the corridors and up three flights of stares, saddling down the hallway to room 35. The door was unlocked, and slightly ajar. 

They plastered themselves on either side of the doorframe, breathing heavily. Vector twitched his head to signal attention, and mouthed our _knives_. Espio only stared disbelievingly at the crazy man; broadcasting a look that demanded _how many warning shots do you think I can give?_

Vector twitched his head again, harder. _Just** do it!**_ The chameleon dared not argue, and his juggling tools trembled out of their sheathes. One slipped, and would have clanged warning on the hardwood floor if not for the reflexes of his tail. The breath Espio exhaled was just as conspicuous, anyway. 

The door hinges swung from Espio's side. Vector squeezed his gun and nodded the countdown. _3 … 2…_

Espio rammed the door; rolled for a corner. Vector spun in, jerked gun left, right, center; freeze. 

And gasp. 

Destruction like a bomb had exploded through the foyer. Couches ripped apart, each cushion slashed open and the stuffing let fly. Espio's plants were ripped from their pots and thrown across the floor trailing streaks of soil. 

Their home … their apartment … it was in ruins. 

Vector flung his headphones to the ground, praying as he marched forward that the office remained untouched. 

The carnage continued beyond the creaking saloon-doors. His desk had been overturned, the drawers emptied and thrown into the walls. His boombox spilled its microchip innards over the hardwood. The lockers Espio had made into such a comfortable niche were toppled. The coffee table was smashed down the middle and lay in twin arches. Espio had dogged after its repair an entire afternoon; now the legs dangled off threads of duct tape. 

Every can of food had been opened and splattered over the walls; the room smelled like raw meat. Every box and folder they'd always promised to sort had been rifled through, contents scattered over the floor and ripped for good measure. The casefiles were soggy and irretrievable, ruined from the liquid spilled from the punctured water cooler. 

The hotplate their meals revolved around, the cushions so stiff but oddly comfortable, Vector's music collection and Espio's private comics. They found them all shattered and mangled. Whatever beast had torn through their home came not simply to search, but to destroy wantonly. All that stood untouched was the dangling ceiling fan, swinging from its electrical cables like a hangman's noose. 

But there was no breeze through the office. Vector gripped his gun with new zeal, aiming at the desk, perhaps thrown down to prop up a shield. "Hands up! Nice an' slow!" Fear alone prompted the courtesy. Neither promised any mercy to the madman who'd ruined their home. 

A trembling sob replied. "V …Vecter?" 

Not from behind – from above! Seething madness, Espio yanking the fan from its fixture, dragging wires and plaster from the ceiling, and widening the already gaping hole. A terrified shriek pulled a dusty little body from his hiding place, tumbling to the floor. 

"Charmy?" 

A trembling pair of eyes locked with the crocodile. "VECTER!" The little honeybee ploughed past Espio and tackled the croc, burying his tears in the warm scales. 

The boy's cries bawled out amidst howls. "Vecter, I wus so scared! Someone came in – he made the doors open; an' he had a gun an' he started wrecking the place an, an," tears claimed him, "I cudn't stop him! I'm sorry!" 

.

Charmy Bee had rushed so eagerly to the door when he heard the fiddling at the keyhole. He had no idea how to react to the stranger who barged through, cocking a loaded gun. 

He'd muffled a scream into his hands; enough noise for the intruder to jerk his gun and home in. 

Charmy had been playing with a rubber ball; without thought he threw. It gave enough time to run between the assailant's dodge. Silenced bullets tore through the wall. 

He'd barreled into the office, panicking over what to do and where to flee. The lockers? The desk? The dangling ceiling fan caught his attention to a good cubbyhole. Charmy tucked up his wings and squirmed his little legs through the hole in the ceiling among the electrical wiring. 

He'd had a birds-eye view as the man of tall and awkward height marched into the office, assessing the room and locking eyes on the fortunately open window. Perceptive light flashed across the intruder's visored optics. He shut his quarry's escape route and began his vandalism. 

.

The tears wouldn't stop, and Charmy had to break ever other word to sniffle and smudge his red eyes. "I'm sorry Vecter." He was far from cold, but his words shivered out over his cries. "It's all my fault. I cudn't stop him. Please don't hate me." 

The aimless waiting unnerved Espio. "What did he look like?" he snapped, itching for action. The yelling only made Charmy cry louder. 

"I dunno, I dunno," he whined, hitting his stupid head with his baby fists. "I can't rumember!" 

The diary was safe, tucked in his toppled equipment locker. Espio stroked it tenderly in a stolen moment, but "My bank card – it's gone!" Vector's shoebox of money was also missing. "He robbed us!" 

"What did you do with that ID card?" Vector's demand cut over all other concerns. Espio only repeated his mantra: 

"I got rid of it." It earned him a smash in the wall. 

"Don't gimmie that! Where is it?" 

"I threw it away! I swear on my mother's egg – it's garbage now!" 

The cracked anger satisfied. Vector relented and fell to consideration. "This was a warning," he said. "Stay off the case." He wanted to sit back in his chair and think, but even that simple comfort was denied. His recliner was split in two. Charmy sobbed, Espio paced around for some enemy to fight; Vector felt his own mind cracking from this impossibility. His home, his place of comfort and safety – destroyed. 

Someone had to act. With a thundering bellow, Vector roared for silence. 

"All right, first thing's first – we can't stay here; G.U.N. will be watchin' the place. So both a ya – start grabbin' anythin' that's in one piece. Esp, we're gonna find a place ta dump the kid, then you 'n me'll hide out 'till the bikers leave fer Las Adrianna." 

"Nice plan," Espio snorted, looking over his smashed dartboard. "Here's the problem – we need money. How far d'ya think we'll go if we can't even buy food?" 

Charmy lifted his sniffly head. "I have money." 

The detectives stared down the little dunce. "You?" Espio scoffed. "You have money?" 

His antenna perked, having their attention and Charmy buzzed to the air. "Yeah! C'monC'monC'mon, I'll show ya!" And he zipped out the window in that trademarked vertical flight for the roof. 

.

The concrete tiles atop the apartment complex were cracked and falling apart. Charmy could pry off one such slab with the help of an old wrench collected solely for that purpose. Underneath was a small cavity widened by rainwater and tiny hands, from which he hefted a dirty pickle jar as big as his body. 

The jar was filled to the brim with crisp, green bills. 

"I find it!" Charmy explained to their questionings. "When I go out, I always look thru the phone boots an' candy machines I see, cause sometimes peoples leave money there. An' there's this neat-o 'cyclin' center at the docks that gives me money everytime a I bring 'em a pop can or a juice bottle!" 

He bent down to peer into his treasure jar, growing wide and shiny through the glass. "Whenever I get enough coin money, I go down ta the rest-raunt on Cherry Street. Tha ladies there are super nice, and they trade me paper money!" 

Espio picked up the jar, gazing into it like a magic crystal ball. He counted twenties. Fifties. "There's got to be over a thousand in here!" 

The jar came to Vector, glittering with a pearly white under the moon. This amount of money took months – no, years – to collect from pitiful pocket change! "Were ya gonna buy toys or somethin' with this?" 

Charmy giggled, innocent and untroubled. "Naw! I was getting' that money fer you!" 

Their eyes met, confused cinnamon and adoring caramel. 

"It's all fer you," Charmy explained, starting to blush at the attention. "Fer yer investigatin'." 

His palm wavered in the air. He'd never thought … All those nights the kid returned filthy and smudged with junk. Exhausted from digging through garbage bins, hoping for just one more tin can… 

Vector stretched a shaking claw, let it fall on the little honeybee's head and ruffle his hair. "Thanks. Kid." 

"So now what?" Espio snorted. The wind whipped over the black night sky. He had to rub his Reptilian claws to stave off the numbness. Only Charmy was capable of shivering. 

Vector looked to his crew and made his decision. "We need a place to hide out – and to stash the kid." He could think of only one sanctuary, though it wouldn't come easy. 

**

--------------------------

**

Betha Gallagher wrapped her night robe tightly over her frame, firing up the lights on her path to the front door. The apartment doorbell hammered through her skull with a desperate plea. She'd have them pleading for mercy, this creep who woke her up! 

All impulse for violence fell though, as she peered through the door at the towering crocodile so ashamed to be seen, the honeybee asleep in his arms and the lingering chameleon with eyes disgraced and averted, each one carrying the remnants of their life in a backpack. 

"We … we ain't got nowhere to go, Beth. Someone broke inta the office. They …" he could not continue. 

Beth held still. She closed the door. 

Locks and tumblers fell from place and she eased the wood open, moving with motherly instinct to take the child from his claws. She backed away and allowed them to enter an apartment bare and packaged into boxes. 

**……….**

Vector's seated pose suggested deep concentration. He was merely conserving energy – the cold night air dictating his metabolism to drop and activity to dissipate. 

Charmy lay peacefully in her bedroom. Beth had lit the gas fire in the corner of her living room to accommodate their needs. Vector took seat fireside in her tall, cushioned divan. Espio looked for the point furthest from this charity, and curled up on the cold linoleum in the corner of the kitchenette. 

"Here, ginger tea." Vector startled from his hibernative trance and accepted the steaming mug from Beth's sturdy hand. She sat opposite him the fire, resting on a cardboard packing crate labeled "Plates and Silverware". 

Neatly packaged boxes were distributed throughout the empty flat. 

"So, yeh took the job?" 

Beth's eyes fell, lost in the artificial fire, but she nodded. 

Vector nodded in return, matching her stare into the fire, filling the silence with its exotic dance of controlled destruction. "Movin' out to Genosa then?" 

Again, she nodded, unable to meet his gaze. "Hmm." Vector sipped, and then stared down into his evaporating tea, plumbing the leaves at the depths for words. His head rose quickly. 

"… Are you sure? I mean you'll be leavin' behind a lot…" 

"Look, I just need to make a fresh start, okay?" 

She finally dared to meet his eyes; hers were tired and red, but with a new firmness. "I can't keep living for you, Vector." She swallowed and arched her back. "I'm sorry for what I did to you – all those years before – but I've repaid my debt ten times over." 

The fire danced. Their eyes met, blinded no longer by guilt or idiocy. A small "oh" was all Vector could muster. 

"You don't get it – do you?" Beth rose to her feet, seeking some relief in walk. "They know – most of them down at the station – they know I'm a fraud; that I built myself from a mistake." 

"You wouldn't a kept that job if you weren't somethin' special ta start with." 

"Shut up!" Her voice was acid. "You're not going to tangle me up in your sweet-talk anymore. Every time you've come to me, it's been for help – training; computer searches; insider tips, and you weasel your way around me until I can't say no. The debt's over, Vector. You can't come to me to solve your problems anymore." 

"I didn't come ta call a favor," he snapped, rising up to dwarf the human. "I came because…" He sank back to his chair, wasted by an anger he could not compete against. 

"I didn't know," he admitted, honest. "I thought we moved past 'owing' each other way back. I thought we were lookin' out for the other. I guess I never knew how you felt." 

She thought, and she conceded. "I do like you, Vector. I mean – you're stupid and you can't look an inch past the next minute, but … I still wish there could be more people like you." 

Beth swallowed. "But I can't keep our past out of this. I can't stop myself from feeling responsible. I just … I need to break away from it all." 

The fire danced across her eyes, firm and hard. "I'm taking the job with _Solomon_. They lost a hunter in Genosa and they asked me to take the position. I want to know that … that I'm not a mistake. That I'm worth what I am." 

She was worth more than gold in his eyes, but Vector didn't think he had the right to speak any further. It just wasn't enough. 

**……….**

Beth left them to vegetate the next day while she cleared out her desk at the police station. Neither Reptile moved greatly, taking the time alone to think and sort out their plans. Both slept fitfully, their dreams disturbed by flashes of red eyes and metal claws – old nightmares unearthed by the shock of losing everything once again. 

The brightest, and most frightening moment of the day came when Charmy approached the lethargic Reptiles, asking how long they'd be away on their case. They eyed each other, and Espio deferred judgment with a shrug. "Yer comin' with us, kid." 

Charmy beamed with a terrible happiness. "You mean I get ta come on an adventure with you guys?" He whooped and cheered the whole day, while the detectives wondered what madness they'd invited along. 

Beth had invited them to the scant leftovers in her fridge. Charmy and Espio stuffed their faces like mammals fattening for winter; the chameleon even squirreled away free provisions in his knapsack, but Vector had no appetite for food. He couldn't take any more from this woman. 

They spoke quiet 'hellos' and 'how-are-yous' upon her return, neither much for conversation. 

"How old is Espio?" she asked suddenly, her tone loaded with concern. 

He knew that one by heart. "Sixteen." Four years his junior. 

Beth's concerns seemed only to grow. "Just sixteen…" she repeated, really saying _just a boy_. Only just reaching the age to drive. Two more before he could drink or marry. Four to vote. "He looks so much older. I guess it's all that anger he carries." 

They spoke no more on the subject, though it weighed deep on the woman's thoughts. 

At last came the hour of rendezvous with the Black Cobras, and so, pulling on their backpacks jangling with what remained of their detective business, Charmy Bee and the Chaotix took their leave. Charmy tackled Beth with hugs and praise, thanking her for all the help; Vector gave silent prayer for the perseverance of his Dragon blood – it was all that kept him from breaking down when Charmy told Beth, "We'll be back real soon, and visit ya, okay?" 

To the chameleon, the police detective offered a small nod. "Espio." She inclined her head with no great loss of love. He nodded back. "Mammal." 

Finally came Vector, the friend undone, and she surprised him most of all by pulling him down into a firm, shivering hug. Vector's arms hovered awkwardly, but then found their place, wrapped around her body, returning her embrace. 

And then, Beth pulled him even tighter, and with a crushing grip, she whispered an order to his ear, _"You take care of them, Vector. Take care of them."_

Out of earshot, his misfit troops had to endure the spectacle, playfully retching and snorting with disgust. All Vector could manage, alarmed by this sudden intimacy was a small, "Yeah, sure." Then, feeling his confidence swell, he grinned "Relax, Beth. You know me." 

"The Indefatigable Spirit?" He nodded. 

Betha Gallagher smiled sadly as they parted. "Don't look for me," she whispered. "Don't come back." 

**

--------------------------

**

They found Grinder the Rat pacing back and forth through the mall parking lot, empty at this dark hour. His attire was once more the overgrown and ill-suited gang uniform of floppy jeans and a worn-out leather jacket. His guardian coyote, Jet, stood in close contact, manning the bikes. An uneasy expression flitted on both their faces, though with the novice Grinder, his worries danced freely as terror. 

He jumped, seeing the oddball trio emerge from the night as black silhouettes of limber limbs and raw muscle. The crocodile seemed to sport a second head, peeping out from his back. 

"You scared me!" he exclaimed. "I thought you'd have bailed!" 

"Had to keep a low profile," the chameleon whispered. "If you haven't noticed, G.U.N. seems a bit busy t'night." 

Out of the darkness bellowed a low drone of passing airplanes. All eyes rose to catch the passing lights of military aircraft. This latest wing of fighter jets was not the first to swoop low over Corvalis, while the red-eyed hoverpods bobbed through the air like a storm of fiery coals. 

"Haven't you guys heard?" Grinder exclaimed, motioning for Jet to up the volume on his bike's radio. "It's all over the news: a robot attack!" 

"What?" 

"Yeah, G.U.N. just dispatched the report: The Doctor sent war mechs to attack this rich guy's mansion on the coast. The place was owned by that _HEXAeco_ tycoon, John Fowles!" 

"He's the guy who found a chaos emerald, ain't he?" 

Grinder only continued as confirmation. "The place got trashed – shredded like a battlefield! They grabbed part of his jewel collection, and the mechs killed a housemaid who got in the way!" 

Espio was first to respond, and with his wheezy laughter. "_Oh_, so it was a _robot attack_, eh? Hear that, Vector? _HE_ sent _robots_ to attack the rich geezer." 

"Oh yeah," Vector played along. "_Huh!_ Interestin' how The Docter's all interested in a guy loaded with jewels! _Real interestin'!_" 

"We're oh so lucky our Armed Forces are being honest about things, aren't we?" 

"Look, you guys are just weirding me out, so can we leave before those hover-heads get too interested in us?" The Chaotix were happy to comply. It was time to end this charade. 

Grinder and Jet rode a pair of long hoverbikes, stretched out to accommodate two riders. Espio saddled up on the rat's smaller ride, while Vector added his considerable weight to the coyote's floating jetski. The dog gave a small snort. "So you guys are the band, eh?" He did not explain his comment any further. 

Each rider donned an open-face helmet and held tight as the bikes gunned to life like howling wolves. Charmy peeked from Vector's backpack and decided he'd be safer with goggles on too. 

"These things go fast, so hold tight!" Jet ordered over the engine whine. "Next stop, Las Adrianna!" 

The bikes burned down the pavement, disappearing down the highway till nothing but a cry though the night could be heard. 

Across the street, a whip of light flashed across the windshield of a monstrous, black van. The driver gunned his engine, taking a second to shut off his piercing headlights, and followed the electronic howls into the rich darkness. 

**

--------------------------

**


	8. Revelations In The Land Of Rich Darkness

"So what's with teh kid? You bikers start all yer recruits that early?" 

They'd come to one of the few highway intersections marked with stoplights, easy beacons in the cover of midnight. The irritated coyote Jet checked back at his passenger. "What'a you talkin' about?" 

"Ah don't be shy – must be a whole lot easier ta brainwash 'em when they're that young!" 

Jet pointed to be sure they had the same person in mind. In the next lane over, Grinder's helmeted silhouette gave an awkward wave. "That runt?" he snorted. "Don't be stupid! The kid couldn't even drive until six months ago! Singing up a pup like him is just asking for trouble!" 

The crocodile made a noteworthy _hmm_, and the coyote knew there'd be no peace. Even with the engines howling full blast through the wind he'd learned that the green saint had pipes enough to harp out his editorials. 

"The runt's brother was a member of the Family," he explained. 

"Oh, I get it! You _Cobras_ hook 'em in one member at a time!" 

"You wanna shut up for a second? Look, Jax might 'o brought the kid to a meeting or to, but he sure didn't want his kid brother messed up in …" Jet gave up on that approach and cut to the chase. 

"After Jax died we pledged Grinder to full membership so we could look after the kid." 

The light went green; Espio and his driver zoomed ahead, but Jet moved his hoverbike into park so he could turn and confront the crocodile. "A lot of us didn't like it – the move went against our charter. But frankly we didn't have any other choice; the runt had nowhere else to go." 

Vector stiffened. "They were orphans?" 

Jet threw his gaze to the road. "His brother cared for him. And the Cobras look after each other." 

The conversation was over, and little more would continue down the road. As Jet gunned the engine, vector had time enough to ask, "Hey! Just what happened with the brother?" 

Jet sneered. "Got himself mixed up with a bounty hunter. Use your imagination." 

**……….**

They raced all through the night, Jet taking special care that the bikes did not slow or fall apart. The dark air was a war zone burning with the regular swoop of airborne patrols. A high-pitched vacuum whine signaled human piloted jet planes. Low droning putters were for GUN-Hawks, the deadliest piece of hardware in the Guardians' stockpile of war mechs. Vector could only shudder over what troops were deploying in the cities, in Corvalis. 

Around three or four in the morning, Grinder began flashing his headlights to signal for a break. Jet forced them on. Out here in plain sight on the open highway, his ward was in the greatest of danger. 

By morning's rise the bikes had made good progress into the Samo Desert, where the open plains at their sides crumbled to sand under the red sun. They passed three solitary gas stations before Jet found a sizably populated trucker's diner safe for a pit stop. The Black Cobras moved for the restrooms; the Chatoix dragged themselves to the heating pipes. Espio was pale and frosty from a night outside in the wind and Vector had lost all feeling beyond his knees. 

"Dumb … kid … falling … asleep half … the time," Espio wheezed, near dead from the cold. "I had to … had to … hold the handlebars … in case he … nodded off." 

Vector couldn't keep his eyes off the poor little rat, flopping across the diner in his oversized menswear. During the drive, Vector had noticed Jet's name stitched into the left shoulder of the coyote's jacket. On Grinder's voluminous black coat was the name _Jax._

He gave Espio a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and limped over to join the boy at the vending machines. "Hey, how'd the ride go?" 

The croc had interrupted on a very generous yawn. "Huh?" The boy glanced around to the brute and immediately stepped out of pummeling range. "Oh, oh fine. N-No trouble, Sir." 

The boy's eyes were baggy and his smile dangling at the corners from fatigue. Even now, the kid put up such a strong front. "So uh … you run a music shop?" 

The rat flattened his ears at the bad memories. "I won't lie to you, it's more of a front…" 

"Yeah well … well y'must be big on music anyhow. I mean, y'even brought yer guitar with ya!" Vector's tail tapped at the black case resting by the boy's feet. 

Grinder chewed his lip. "Yeah … about that …" 

"Hey! Which bands d'ya listen to?" 

"Me?" Now the boy was suspicious and awkward, trying to analyze this new kindness. "Well, uh, I like Julian-K, The Nelsons … Limozeen." 

"Limozeen! No way! I love those guys! Didja get their latest album?" 

"Huh? Oh, I pre-ordered a special copy, yeah." 

"I remember those guys used ta have a cartoon show –" 

"– Saturday at eight am!" Grinder's eyes lit up. "I was up watching that –" 

" – _every morning!_" they finished together. 

Vector stretched his ferocious crocodile grin now that he'd found some common ground. Grinder babbled on unhindered now: "I'd set my alarm every Friday before I went to bed! And I always turned the volume up so loud I'd wake Jax, and we'd make toast together and …" his voice cracked. 

The crocodile urged him on with a smile. "Never mind …" the rat snorted, dropping his head and hiding his eyes under his bangs. "Hey, if you need something to drink, now's the time … uh …" 

Grinder found himself distracted by Vector's backpack, wriggling and dancing off its straps like a ghost in brown canvas sheets. Charmy Bee exploded through the zipper like a hyperventilating jack-in-the-box, breathless but bursting with a million observations. "Vecter, it's too hot in there, an' I can't see nothing! I'm bored – are we there yet? … Hey! We're some place new!" 

"Waugh!" Grinder jumped and flattened himself against the drink machines. That only made him the focus of Charmy's attention, and the honeybee buzzed in close like a curious hoverpod. 

"Hey! Vecter – it's the guy from the docks! That's the guy who tricked us, Vecter!" Grinder attempted to control his trembling, assuming the little flying thing hunted by motion. Charmy tackled the rat's head anyway and pulled on his ears. 

"I got 'um Vecter! I got 'um! Let's beat 'em up!" 

Vector had neglected to mention the particulars of this 'adventure' they were on; it mattered little – at that point Grinder's agitated brain toggled into 'flight mode' and the rat spun in panicky circles trying to get the bee from his bonnet. Charmy had to cling tight like a cowboy on a wild horse. "You won't get away, you bad guy!" 

"Kid, hold it! He's with us!" One deft grab and the honeybee was in Vector's claws, dangling upside-down from the leg. 

"But Vecterrrrr!" Charmy pouted. The croc tossed him over the shoulder with instructions to use the bathroom. (The honeybee zipped away with a ring of _this sucks!_) 

By now, Grinder was well awake and ready for another day of driving. Vector checked for injuries but the rat shrugged it off as merely shock. "S'okay. I'm okay. I just freaked when I saw your chao; I didn't know they could talk!" 

After the reactionary growl, Vector muttered that the boy was an Insect; a subspecies called a 'honeybee' to be exact. He tried to present it casually, but Grinder dropped his jaw anyway, gaping as though he'd had a religious vision. "No way!" he babbled, looking on the child as though he'd seen a Dragon or an Angel. "Unbelievable; I mean, I've seen them on documentaries; Amber showed me pictures from her homeland but, but (oh my gosh) I never thought I'd see an actual Insect – here, in the Provinces!" 

A less than inspiring thought popped Grinder from his rapture. "You kept that kid all night in your _backpack?_" 

And more importantly, "I thought Insects lived overseas! What's a little kid like that doing with you anyway? Vector?" 

The monstrous, hunchbacked Dragon-spawn had already lumbered off to the bikes. 

**……….**

They were off and running once again. The sky grew to blue and the orange sands at their sides flamed against the sun's shine. The infinite space of the horizon stunned Espio, accustomed to sunrises hedged off by clustered apartments and city smog. The open skies reminded Vector of home. Both wished the view were not scarred with the jet streams of fighter planes. 

Espio nursed his grudge, counting the waves of GUN-Hawks that swept overhead. Ellie had crossed a terrible threshold last night. He hoped she would stay safe for him just a little while longer. 

The group stopped only one more, and that was to deal with some of the particulars of their destination. Jet stood guard at the diner entrance while Grinder sat down Charmy and the Chaotix, handing each Reptile a glittery plastic card. 

"Paper money's no good in the Big Glitz," he explained, referring to the city's slang-name. "Las Adrianna's one big machine: the hotels, the casinos and the restaurants; everything's wired to a central system, and to keep track of everybody they only accept these money cards." 

"I heard o' that stuff," Vector interrupted. "Keeps teh counterfeiters outa the city. Smart!" 

"Practical, really. Can't have those phonies messing with Cobra revenues." The Chaotix stared goggle-eyed at Jet. The coyote only laughed. "Oh c'mon, who d'ya think runs that city anyway?" 

Grinder cleared his throat to continue. "Anyway, don't loose 'um, or a new one will cost ya. And there's a surtax every time you add money to your card, so you guys better load up now." 

Next to the jukebox was an exchange machine that gobbled down paper bills and spat digital money onto the credit cards. Charmy might have raised a stink over being neglected a card of his own, but he felt plenty included, holding his jar of money while Vector fed cash to his card. 

"Yer sure about this, kid?" The croc felt absolutely rotten, taking money from a kid with no sense of its worth. "You ain't gonna see this kind 'a cash again," he cautioned. 

But even in these warnings Charmy's smile was good-natured. "That's okay!" he beamed. "When we catch this bad guy we'll make lotsa money, right?" 

"That's the plan." 

"And we'll have plenty ta buy all the stuff we need, right?" 

"We sure will!" 

"And then you can start doin' real big cases, right?" "Uh, I guess –" 

"So then we can find my Mommy and Daddy!" 

Vector's heart didn't even jerk or scream. It just stopped. The wrinkled bill in his palm fell, swaying back and forth to the ground. Espio stiffened and left to inspect the comic book racks. And Charmy's caramel eyes smiled. 

The kid still remembered – 

The innocent eyes cried out for response. "Yeah. … Yeah, you bet kid." 

He only fueled the fire. "YIPEE!" Charmy punched the air and twirled. 

Pleadingly, Vector looked to Espio. The chameleon hid his face in his reading, flipping the pages that turned right to left. 

**

--------------------------

**

The chameleon got to ride the last leg with an extra burden on his back. He sighed, knowing the crocodile was in one of his 'funks' and wouldn't feel safe around the kid for hours. "I'll woik somethin' out laiter," Espio snorted with a parodying accent. 

While the desert sun sank into the dunes at their backs, another orb of light rose from the horizon, shimmering red like a fire. Spotlights waved like smoke in the night sky, and even at this pinprick distance, the hoverbike riders could distinguish the sound of music (Charmy picked up first, straightening up and wiggling his antennae), a sugary electronic organ grinder piped through thousands of far-away loudspeakers. 

Espio felt hands on his shoulders and grimaced as the honeybee climbed up his head for a better look. He hoped it was the kid who gasped stupidly as they approached the flames and the core of heat resolved into towers and skyscrapers, every abstract shape burning with the shine of gold. 

The light was so harsh, the chameleon had to shield his eyes! Las Adrianna, the casino city! 

There was no gradual move into suburbs – the desert highway simply plowed into the circular city that was electric nightlife from core to fringe. 

The bikes pulled a hard right off the main street and into a black tunnel. Grinder jerked the breaks so fast Charmy shot off his perch like a bullet and the whiplash threw Espio backwards off his seat. The rat jerked his head between moaning casualties before and behind. "Sorry," he offered. 

Jet hadn't been any gentler in his stop. "Someone get this green rug off me!" he squawked, sprawled underneath Vector's collapsed body. 

The tunnel was a parking garage; valets quickly came to check the hoverbikes into stalls. "Stretch yer legs, band boys," Jet barked like a circus ringmaster (again using the 'band' reference). "No outside vehicles allowed in the Big Glitz, so we're goin' fer a walk!" 

"A walk!" Charmy pouted while the grown-ups grabbed their luggage. "Awww! But I'm tired!" He tugged Vector's elbow for attention, but the croc was still distant. The chameleon knew he'd be next. "Espio, will you carry me? I don't wanna walk!" 

"You're a bee!" he retorted. "You _don't_ walk!" 

Before they could exit the terminal, a flashy golden monitor hovered into their faces, waggling its antenna, juking its little keyboard and flashing advertisements for hoverbike rentals. 

Jet gave the floating computer a pat on the side. "Got these little buggers on every street corner. You need anything – transport, directions, lunch – just wave yer card," he lifted his money card; the monitor squealed and readied for transaction. "They'll getcha whatever you want." 

"Fer a price," Vector added. 

"Yeah, yeah," Jet shrugged. He pocketed his card; the monitor sulked. "Nothing's free here, but service is first-rate!" 

He led the procession up an exiting escalator, giving touristy info for the newcomers. "Apparently they hired a bird as the city planner." Jet snorted. "So don't be too surprised if things are a bit … vertical." 

Antsy Charmy had buzzed up ahead, but he quickly zipped back, more energetic than ever. "Vecter, Espio, it's so cool, you gotta see it! Hurry!" He tugged and prodded them all the way up the moving stairs to the balcony atop. 

Hovering transports jammed the main streets below, but the real action kept up above. Las Adrianna was assembled on levels, with bridges and walkways strung between the buildings like hanging baskets of flowers. Grass and palm trees lined the walkways, and from their undersides dangled electric streamers dancing with lights. 

The entire city architecture was based around light – every wall of every building (no matter how uniquely bizarre) was covered in sheets of powerful fluorescent lights. Trimmed in gold, every building blasted wild neon pink and electric yellow in computer-coordinated waves. 

The red eye-nodes of hoverpods also happened to dot the skylanes, but here the Guardian forces were thin and scattered – the Chaotix watched one overwhelmed robot spin itself in circles trying to keep track of the many levels of traffic. A large avian population only confounded their job – the group could hear the flap of feathery shadows launching themselves from one hanging garden to the next, diving and vaulting between levels. Charmy itched to try out the city jungle gym, and Espio had to keep the boy tethered. "Brilliant idea coming up here – how are we supposed to move around?" 

Jet stepped just a little too smugly towards an information monitor and swiped his money card. "Taxi!" 

Taxi – but all Espio saw lifting up out of the lower levels was some strange flying saucer: a circular platform the size of a small arena bobbing on repulsorlifts. The spacecraft with glass floor and guardrails hooked itself to the walkway and popped open its gate. All five filed on, but the arena could easily fit a small battalion of tourists. 

"No roof 'r canopy? This is nuts!" Vector's snorts were for show; he was clearly giddy as a child in an amusement park. Maybe he'd recover quickly and take the stupid kid off his hands. The arena jerked through the air, leaving the Chaotix wobbling and jumping for the railings. 

By now, Charmy was just plain goggle-eyed. "Vecter," he exclaimed, "we're flying!" 

From their height they could look down on the entire city, an electric wheel touched down in the sand with roads and major traffic lanes like spokes drawn towards the center. Buildings came in all kinds of exotic designs: cylinders, staircases, but by far the most popular were the floats, giant bulbs and funnels lifted off the ground on delicate light-adorned stilts, accessible only by the upper walkways. Traveling across the skyline was like floating through a dreamland surrounded by dangling streamers and hovering party balloons. 

Pink balloons. Espio might have tossed his lunch onto a lower platform if the city weren't so cool. "So the Black Cobras really own this town?" he asked, sidling up by the rat. 

"Parts of it," Grinder reiterated. "Y'know technically this place isn't even a city – all the maps mark it as one big amusement park. There's no government here, it's just businesses renting out the land." 

Espio nodded. "_Businesses._" 

The rat tapped his nose slyly, and pointed out the passing buildings, explaining which casinos were financed by which syndicates. Espio leaned cross-armed with his back to the city, but swiveled a dutiful eye wherever Grinder aimed. 

"… and the one over there that looks like a giant slot machine, it's legit – _Hexa_eco owned. Everybody's got a piece of the pie." 

Vector's sharp-toothed snout butted into the conversation. "Whadda bout teh Queen?" 

"Why would she own a hotel, or a club?" Espio scoffed. "She's not the kind of girl who'd throw her money into something based on _serving_ people. Right, kid?" 

Grinder did not answer immediately, and he kept his stare into the city while he did. "I've heard … rumors. They ah, say she's got a private penthouse somewhere. Supposed to be real snazzy." His voice was steady, but his palms crushed the guardrail as he spoke. 

"Yer boss 'ud know, right?" 

"Kimoto?" Grinder replied. "… Oh yeah … yeah. No one knows her better. Don't worry – he'll let you know _everything_ about her." 

The rat pretended to spy an interesting building. "Oh hey, check that out guys!" Glancing at his bodyguard, he pulled the Chaotix across the arena to the end opposite the coyote. Charmy noticed the group movement and joined the secret huddle. 

"There's one teeny little thing I haven't mentioned," Grinder whispered. "This party – it's _very_ exclusive. As in 'members only'." He took a deep, steadying breath and slung the guitar case off his back. "So when we get to the doors, you guys are the evening's entertainment." 

Vector squawked. Charmy was thrilled ("I call drummer!"). The guitar shoved its way into Espio's claws and the chameleon snarled. "A little warning might have been nice, mammal." 

"Well it's not like you gave me any time to negotiate you onto the guest list!" he hissed, careful to keep at a whisper. "Relax; look this is just your cover story to get past security. Once you're in, I'll explain everything to Kimoto and we'll all be cool." 

Vector's tail tapped the platform like a club. "If yer settin' us up –" he warned, but then Jet signaled their arrival. 

Centerpoint Tower – perhaps the most normal building in the entire casino city – was quite literally the central screw of the city-sized roulette wheel, intersection of all the major roads at a five-lane roundabout at its base. Centerpoint was also one of the few buildings not connected by the walkway networks. Riff-raff need not apply. 

The tower was ringed with docking stations for the saucer taxis, bobbing off the walls like pads of mushrooms. Charmy and the Chaotix braced as the platform clipped into its balcony. Just beyond was a high-rise doorway, and a black-jacketed Cobra flanked by hotel security. 

Jet yanked Grinder to his side and presented their identification for scanning. "Jet, you're late man," the Cobra, a brawny Iguana, grinned over a handshake and embrace. "Party's just about started." 

Vector signaled his troops to follow closely, only to have a meaty hand shoved in his chest. "Whoa, private function boys. Bugger off." 

Grinder pulled away from his guardian. "Easy there, these guys are tonight's band." 

"Don't be stupid," the iguana scoffed while filling his attendance clipboard. "The band came half 'n hour ago; they're getting set up on stage." 

_Boiing_ went the strings on Espio's guitar. Vector growled at the dumb rat and set himself on Pulverize mode. 

"Oh …" Glancing between the muscled guards and Vector's teeth, Grinder commanded some fast thinking. "Well ah, that's because these guys are, ah … the opening act! Yeah, that's right. They're the cover band!" 

The Iguana looked to Jet, (who shrugged apathetically), then gave a skeptical look over the crocodile, the chameleon and the little flying midget clacking his new percussion mallets. "I'm the drummer!" Charmy explained. 

Espio groaned. "You mean the dumber." Vector slapped the back of his head. 

The Cobra frowned and reached for his walkie-talkie. Grinder took a bold step forward. "I'm the one who arranged the gig. If they have to leave, I go with them." 

Now there was a threat to make the gatekeeper pause. Iguana and coyote met eyes, Jet crossing his arms to say he was though playing bodyguard. A sigh hissed though the lizard. "Dedicated. You really are Jax's brother." He spoke a begrudging compliment, but Grinder flashed an angry look and clenched his fists. 

"You boys better be good," the iguana warned. The Chaotix slapped hi-fives and celebrated until the Cobra motioned to the security team. "Brutus – get these buskers on stage, pronto." 

Rigamortis hit Grinder. "NO! – I mean … I'm uh, sure they can find they're own way." 

"I want them on in two minutes," the iguana instructed, leaving the human guards to administer 'rush treatment' on the Chaotix. With a squeak, Charmy was snatched and tucked into a coat pocket, Espio slung over a brute's shoulder and Vector dragged between two men. 

Grinder paled – "I'm dead," he whimpered. Two of the humans then decided the mouse was band material as well, and grabbed him under the shoulders, towing him inside, and towards the crocodile's smile. It was too much stress to handle without screaming, and his cries echoed. 

Back at the entrance Jet cast a lazy eye over the Iguana. "Don't suppose you'd like to carry me?" 

**

--------------------------

**

It was pitch black backstage, but they could hear the crowd screaming for music. Only a thin partition separated the phony rockers and their 'manager' from a concert hall of anarchic bikers and criminals, every last one of them loaded with guns expecting nothing less than a dynamite performance. 

Foiling petty chao-nappings never seemed more appealing. 

"Hey Grinder, little buddy!" The MC of the evening, a bulbous toad in Cobra colours rubbed his moist palm through the rat's shell-shocked hair. "Glad you're here – I thought you'd gotten lost. You bring these guys?" 

A crocodile gurgled hungrily in the darkness, and the boy could only stutter out half-words. _I …uh, uh… ahh…_

The toad beamed. "Well that's swell! Hey, what sorta music d'you boys play? Hard rock? Punk?" Espio leveled his poisonous eyes on the MC. 

"Oh. No. – don't tell me you're emo!" 

A voice from off-stage. Curtain call in thirty! The toad assembled himself quickly. "Hey Grinder – you'd better introduce these guys. C'mon!" Their last, pathetic hope was dragged though the stage blinds and the Chaotix were left alone and in the dark, with precious little time to share before their executions. 

"You reeeally screwed us up this time, Fathead." 

"Oh, like all that _ninja power_ helped a whole bunch, Horntop!" 

"Yeah, it's all yer fault, Espio! You suck!" 

"Okay, okay, Shaddup boys – we can still wing it. I know plenty 'a easy songs –" 

"Vecter, are you gonna lip-drown?" 

"That's _lip-sync_, twerp. OW! What was that fer?" 

"Oh what, I can't give a free hit when _you_ call the kid names? OW!" 

"_Ladies and gentlemen!_" The booming MC interrupted their squabble. "Great to see you all! Announcing our first band of the evening, put your hands together for Grrrrinder!" 

The crowd went wild with jeers. _Hey, it's Little Jax! Aww, he's so cute! Go Mighty Mouse!_ Across the curtain, the microphone got an experimental tap. "Uh – umm … h-hullo?" The crowd laughed at the nervous little rat. _You can do it, Mighty Mouse!_ Espio groaned and hid his face. 

"Hu-hullo Las A-adrianna," Grinder stuttered. "F-first u-up is … the umm…" 

The microphone was forcefully snatched and the toad boomed once again. "Big round of applause for our little trooper! Okay, now give it up for …" and they could picture him reading their napkin business card, "The Chhaaaay – Oh – Ticks!" 

The world was murmuring against them even before the curtain split. A crocodile in gaudy jewelry, squinting at the lighting and wringing his microphone stand in lieu of a gray rat's neck. To the side, a chameleon strapped to a guitar with his back on the audience, craning his head as though looking for exits in the stage walls. The percussion set looked vacant until a little body stood on tippy-toes to see above the surrounding ring of drums and cymbals. 

Grinder had been forcefully crowd-surfed into an open seat, Vector could see the boy gnawing away at his lips and sweating up a stink. _Blasted little fur!_ He gave his troops a quick shout. "This is it boys! I know we can do it, so don't screw up! Take it, Yuffie!" 

Espio gave his guitar a test strum. _Pling, pling._ He sounded like a banjo – the power was off. Vector rushed to plug his patchcord to the amp. The system immediately shrieked feedback, and the audience made a collective wince and covered their ears. 

Maybe the kid was feeling brave; maybe he was just too short to see all the unhappy faces. Charmy punched the air with his drumsticks and whooped, diving into the beat. 

_Bap-u-bap-u-bap-u-bap-u-bap-u._ Was that the drum, Vector wondered, or his heart? 

Espio gave his instrument another try; his electric red kitten growled. _RAOW! _Encouraged by the amplified roar, he went nuts on the strings. _Jiga-jiga-jiga-jiga-jiga- _

Bap-u-bap-u-bap-u, Charmy hovered over his seat, bashing whatever his sticks could reach. Espio flapped his wrists over the strings like he was trying to shake off a bug, _jiga-jiga-jiga-jiga-jiga-_

It was horrible. The beat kept no steady tempo; the guitar was screeching random notes! It wasn't music – it wasn't even noise! This was blasphemy! Across the world, baby kittens were flopping over on their backs for this audio abomination! 

Vector stood paralyzed as the shrieks and bashes circled and wound over his body like clashing winds. He was at the eye of an acoustic hurricane, gripping the mike stand, the only crutch keeping him steady. "C'mon Vecter!" That was Charmy, screeching with all his pre-pubescent fury for song. Espio sidestepped and kicked his shin. "Get goin' V-Man!" 

They weren't going to let themselves fall apart – not for nothing. Vector pulled the mike off the floor, angled his jaws and screamed his head off. "YAAOOGGGGHHH!" 

Eyeglasses splintered, mirrors cracked; the world shook, ready to fall at their combined chaos. 

A fuse blew, diminishing the Chaotix to acoustic sputters. Charmy banged a minute longer before he got the cue to stop. 

Dead silence from an audience that had taken a collective swig of lemon juice. Grinder was trying to hold back his tears – it was just so awful! 

And then, "WHOO! YEAH!" A singular hand punched the air and waved a lighter in support. 

Everyone turned to face the weirdo. Everyone did a double take. And the one little flame sparked the crowd into thunderous applause! Whistles and cheers and hooting (and other unmentionables) were tossed at the stage. They loved it! 

Vector hooted. "Yeah baby! WE'RE THE CHAOTIX!" 

Their bows came in random, each one shoving for center stage. 

**

--------------------------

**

The after-party spanned an entire floor – gaming rooms, karaoke, and a dining hall with self-serve buffet. But eclipsing even the prospect of food were the congratulations they received from passersby's, like the pair of red-hot gecko girl in biker jackets shimmying their way. 

"Loved the concert, boys." Their smile seemed forced (all their fans were putting a painful effort into being nice) but Vector and Espio were willing to spare the small stuff. 

"Love what you're wearin'" Espio returned, leaning back on the wall, swishing a sultry smile and rebellious eyes. "How's about I buy you a drink, gorgeous?" 

A dismissive little giggle was all he got. "Aww, that's sweet of you little boy, but I don't think you're allowed to order from the bar." Call us when you grow up," the other added, and they turned around, tittering and giggling to each other while Espio burned himself char black. 

Grinder was the only to approach with an honest face. "Well, that was lucky," he exhaled. Vector's fists ached, but he could hush them to rest after seeing the pecking order of the gang. _Little Jax. Mighty Mouse._ Every biker who passed thought he had the right to give the kid a hard slap on the back, or to tousle his hair for good luck. The poor boy was little more than a mascot! 

Vector remembered all the boy's outbursts at authority, his agile mind. He was stronger than they credited him. "Here's the deal," the rat continued. "Kimoto is in the upper lounge taking reports from all the regional bosses. Eventually I'll have to go up there and explain that little 'oops' at the docks. I'll arrange a formal introduction with my rescuers, and you can ask the boss whatever you want." 

"What makes you think you're getting away from us again?" Espio snapped, looking to vent his underage pride. 

"Trust me guys, I don't think he'll be all that hospitable at first–" 

"GRINDER!" The mouse dropped his ears. The Iguana from the front door, holding an angry glare and leading a pack of security guards. 

The little trooper forced a smile. "Well … you get the idea. Just, ah, mingle around. I'll be back." He swallowed as the guards seized his shoulders. "I hope." 

"Now can we go play?" Charmy buzzed the question as soon as Grinder's funeral march left the room. Espio had other ideas. 

"Who says this boss-guy is the only one with info on the Queen?" 

"Espio's right. Split up boys – start askin' around. Let's see what these Cobras really know." 

Taking advantage of their odd celebrity, Vector and Espio wormed their way into conversations lying low in discussions of sports, or security step-ups, and then casually slipping in a lure. "Y'know, that reminds me of a story I heard. Anyone ever heard o' teh Red Queen?" 

Nods and recollective ahs would follow, and one fortunate soul might launch into the story of how he'd caught her profile lounged in the corner of a gang clubhouse, or glimpsed the face half-veiled in ivory hair glide out the boss's office. Everything was steeped in legend and shadow, and every yarn-spinner ended with the same advice: "But if you wanna know more about her, talk to Grinder. Where'd that runt go anyway?" 

Espio was the first to pursue the lead, but only Vector's charms could coax out answers. "So, Grinder – he knows a lot 'bout the Queen?" 

A dame lizard cackled in reply, her frilled collar fanning with chuckles. "You think? She's only his sister-in-law!" 

Espio's response brought the party to a collective pause. _"HIS WHAT?"_

The lizard femme, their current target, pulled a swig on her drink. "Well… officially she was one 'I do' short of the job, but she and his brother were practically living together anyway. The Princess an' the Pauper, those two!" 

The Chaotix kept the drinks and snacks coming, and the stories kept spilling. "I was there when they met. Five, six years ago maybe. Kimoto was looking to hire a thief and this human named Arella – one of our smuggling contacts – said he could get us in touch with a fresh face. Arella made all the arrangements for a meeting; the Boss sent me and Jax to pick her up. 

"I still remember the job. It was a dark and stormy night. Rain pounding down like hammers when we pulled the bikes up to the train station, an' she sashays out in this long coat like it's a royal procession. Never would a dreamed she'd be so young! I got to carry her luggage and Jax…" the femme gave a naughty little giggle. "Well that lucky little son-of-a-gun got to snuggle up with his cargo all the long ride back. You should've seen him when we got to base – poor fool had love in his eyes." 

Later conversations confirmed the crush. "Jax?" The toad MC grinned fond recollections. "Oh yeah, he was crazy for that Queen girl from day one! He weaseled his way with The Boss so that he'd be her contact for the gang – bringing her new assignments, delivering her pay. I heard he used to slip little extras in her paychecks: roses, little poems, even jewelry. The guy was like a little puppy around her!" 

But had she responded to his attempts? "Yes," the pair of gecko girls pouted. (Apparently Jax had been quite the heartthrob.) "Oh he'd come around the morning after, crowing about how she finally let him take her out to a restaurant, or how she just loved the gift he'd bought." 

"Yeah," the other chimed. "I saw her once at Jax's place, spending dinner with him an' Grinder. She was welcome any time – he had a room set up just for her, that jerk!" 

Coyote Jet had his share to say too. "Yeah, I remember Jax's stories. Sounded like one of those old-fashioned courtships, him chasing her around and promising the world. She finally gave him a little peck on the cheek, and the poor guy was doing cartwheels for a week! 

"Jax – he was never all that well off – great guy: loyal, optimistic, took care of his little bro. But man, once they hooked up, he was shredding through cash and bumming dough off the whole gang!" 

"Grinder definetly helped – cute little sibling and all." the gecko twins continued. "And he was all hero-worship on big brother's girlfriend. He had all these toys she got him, it was like they were married and he was her baby." (The girls swooned again, imagining marriage with Jax.) 

"I don't think they met all that often – just random nights together whenever she was in town, or taking a job for us. But Jax was just crazy about her. And so he popped the question." 

Jet sighed. "He was always spending so much on gifts and dates, it didn't change with the ring, you should have seen it: eightteen karat gold band topped with a jet-black pearl. I heard he and that human Arella ordered it from overseas!" 

Espio had to know the details. What had happened? "He proposed right here in Las Adrianna," the Toad grinned. "Took her up in one of those taxi platforms so they could look down on the whole city, just the two of them together. And he got on one knee and popped the question. 

"Jax told us afterwards it was the one time he ever saw her off-guard. She was in shock. 

"And of course she said yes." 

The storytellers would then shake their heads and sigh. "I guess it was just to keep the boy happy, because we never heard from the Queen again. Jax got busy planning the ceremony and everything, but she never returned his calls, or came by the clubhouses. The guy couldn't sleep, he worried so hard. Then the Boss called him in with a letter – formal notice the Queen wouldn't take any more jobs from us. She was going abroad. 

"Jax … took it pretty hard. A bounty hunter got him four years back, but he was dead long before." 

Over and over, the conversations dissolved. The gecko girls sniffled off to the washroom. Jet and the Toad were pulled into a card game. The lizard femme drained her glass with a final toast to the Queen. "Dirty little cheat," she snorted. "Didn't even give the ring back." 

Swamped in information, Espio could not reply. It was Vector, of all people, who leapt to Ellie Slater's defense. "Hey, cut the girl some slack! She got roped in a tight spot an' you got no right bashin' her!" 

The lizard femme snorted and left, sensing her free drinks had dried up. Espio voiced his amazement. "Didn't expect that from you, Vector." 

"Well who wouldn't be scared 'o gettin' married, I mean – spendin' yer whole life with one person, lookin' after that guy no matter what, bein' responsible fer someone else…" He trailed off, coughing to hide his discomfort. 

Shadows dropped over the table. The Iguana doorman and his troop of security guards. "You're wanted upstairs. And bring that chao-thing with you." 

A swarm of cheek-pinching girls were spooning treats to a delighted little Charmy. Vector pulled the boy away (the fangirls wailed) but would not carry him, would not even make eye contact. Too much dwelled on his mind. 

The elevators discharged the detectives into a revolving restaurant at the hotel peak, emptied for use of a single party. The host stood to receive his guests. Charmy recognized him at once. "You're the guy who clapped for us!" 

Kimoto, leader of the Black Cobras flicked his forked lizard tongue in return. "And you, little bite-sized one are a long ways from home." His voice rumbled, deep and hungry. "An Insect, how intessssting." 

Charmy was young enough to find admiration in the intimidating creature. "Wow Vecter, he's even bigger than you!" Kimoto's gray-scaled body was all muscled torso, with stumpy squat-legs and short, greedy arms itching to feed everything nearby into his round, leathery maw. His Cobra jacket was sleeveless and pitted with knife slashes while his tail stood long enough to curve over his head like a scorpion stinger. The appendage bobbed through the air the entire meal, like a hatchet poised to slash. 

The Chaotix detectives had brains enough to stay on guard before this monster. Kimoto grinned, pleased at their caution. "Please, take your seats," he crooned, gesturing to the three open chairs along the diameter of the half-moon table. Each was custom fitted for their various heights. 

The mob lord was not alone in his banquet. To one side sat a trio of high-ranked councilors; to the other, wedged between two massive wolves sat Grinder; ears drooped and hope erased from his eyes. Charmy waved hello, but the boy averted his face and stared into his half-picked plate of food. 

"Have some wine; help yourselves." Kimoto gestured to the platters of food. "We have much to celebrate." 

The smells of cooked meats were intoxicating. They fell to their seats – Charmy, Vector and Espio – and into old habits of free-for-all gluttony, snatching at the nearest plates and stuffing their faces like any other night at the apartment. It was free after all. 

Kimoto reclined back and enjoyed the sight. "Your performance tonight was delicious – like a well prepared banquet of sound. I delight in modern styles of music: The discord, the disorder..." he inhaled as if sampling the rotten chords all over again. 

"Life is a sad, broken thing," he confided to the detectives. "It is a platter of stale pastries, crumbling to pieces. Nothing lasts; everything dissolves. But you three tonight – your crazed heap of sounds and styles shoved together – stood against this falling, failing world and created something beautiful! A harmonious dissonance, a greater unity thriving among conflict!" 

"Beautiful," he sighed. "Beautiful as breakfast. Even now, it is inspiring to think that such wonderful aftertaste might come after such a (his reptile eye pinned Grinder) _disappointing_ first bite." 

The Chaotix caught the threat and froze in their gorging. Lifeless Grinder only continued to stir his cold food. Espio recovered first. "Yeah, funny how things change. The kid's brother, for example …" 

Grinder stiffened, pulled taught at every limb. With new energy he began stuffing his face to avoid speech. 

"The pup has told me all you've done for him," Kimoto noted. 

Vector grinned while he reached for the central turkey platter. "No sweat! Helpin' the Little Guy's an agency policy!" 

Kimoto's hatchet tail whipped down on the table and slapped the cooked bird from the crocodile. The gray lizard's tyrannosaurus claws hooked over the entrée. "The little H'ourdouvre also told me everything you know of the Black Cobras." Kimoto's little hands ripped apart the bird as he spoke, tearing flesh and snapping bones. "Our Corvalis smuggling waypoint for example; our Las Adrianna properties for another. And my cameras show me you've been very chatty downstairs, Detectives." 

Golden information monitors hovered at the crime lord's shoulders. "You are difficult men to trace," he continued, "and my hackers have been stretched in unearthing your records. No driver licenses, no credit records and no property to your name. Dangerous little nobodies with their hands in the cookie jar, eh Grinder?" 

Not a fork was moving now. "You, my green Entrée, are a landed immigrant of three years past from some stinkhole in the Westside Islands; your smaller Side-dish is apparently so poor he has no history worth telling – he's not even listed with a high-school degree!" 

While Espio growled and fingered his wristlets, Kimoto fastened his eyes on Charmy, now showing signs of worry. "And you're the most fascinating of them all, little Shish-kabob: An unregistered flyer; a little honeybee native to a continent far overseas. What curious company you keep …" 

It was Vector's turn to growl. "Oh but there's more," the lizard smiled, consulting his monitors. "Crocodile – you had a string of unsuccessful jobs when you first arrived on our shores. … I see you were a security guard at … ah, Carnival Island Amusement Park." 

Grinder choked on his food. Kimoto and his consorts smiled. "I didn't think there had been any survivors …" 

Charmy's antenna sprung. "Survivors? Doesn't that mean – " 

Fast as lightning, Vector slammed his earphones onto the boy's head and shoved an apple in his mouth. Deaf and dumb, Charmy pouted. The croc was on his feet, jaws side-tilted and teeth on display with a throaty gurgle. Kimoto hissed and flashed his tail. Espio braced for battle. 

A well-timed bellhop trotted on scene and broke the tension. "Pardon me – Mr. Grinder? You have a call on line one: A Mr. Stuart." 

The rat brushed his bangs and sent a consulting look to his Family head. Kimoto shrugged the boy off, and Grinder squeezed out from between his guards, bowing and stuttering thanks. "Floor thirty-six," the bellhop informed. "A phone is available on the front desk." 

Grinder escaped to the elevator, taking with him the pent-up anger of the group. Vector settled to his chair with a sneer. The crime lord followed suite. "Now that we've digested that disagreeable little row," he smiled, "how shall we continue, my little cocktail snacks?" 

Charmy tapped on his chest to shoot the apple from his mouth. "Are – are you gonna eat us?" 

The Cobras blinked, but no one dared laugh until Kimoto slapped the table, hooting with all the air of his powerful lungs. "Eat you, my little Appetizer? How could I possibly destroy such marvelous musicians?" 

He went on before they could relax. "Of course, you have seen quite a bit of our operations, however our time together has reconciled my mind: It's clear you're all too stupid to be any bother to us." 

Three pairs of eyes glowered. 

"So, for your intervention at the Corvalis harbor … and tonight's delectable performance, I believe some reward is in order." 

Vector leapt at the opportunity like it was free food. "What we want – what we came for – is information." 

"We want Ellie Slater," Espio continued. "Or Natalie, or Amber – whatever you wanna call her. Where's the Red Queen hiding? You aughta know, Mr. Computer-Head." 

"Hmm." The great reptile's claws were steepled, his back sunk in his chair. He motioned for his underlings to depart. Kimoto hummed some more, and then chuckled. "Hmm-hm-hm." 

"As foreseen," he grinned. "Idiots. If this is your request, Detectives, then I'm sorry to end your journey. It seems all this time you've chased the wrong suspect." 

"Huh?" 

"My dear Crocodile, about the same time you had your … mishap on Carnival Island, the Red Queen took a commission to infiltrate a military complex and steal restricted data." 

"Yeah? An' what's dat gotta do with anythin'?" 

"It so happens that she was detected entering the facility and captured. The Red Queen is a dead legend. Ellie Slater was executed three years ago." 

**

--------------------------

**


	9. Last Legends

The desert winds over Las Adrianna were fittingly cold, whistling through the electric towers and suspended walkways like a mournful sigh. Collapsed over the balcony of a garden terrace, Espio accompanied the hollow breeze in its wasted exhale. 

The Red Queen was no more. Ellie Slater was dead. 

**……….**

"It was a case of corporate espionage," Kimoto had explained, making a show of producing pirated security records documenting the failed infiltration. "According to my sources, the Queen was approached by the Solomon Tracking Network to steal classified documents pertaining to G.U.N.'s robotics programs. Rather ironically, she was detected by prototype hoverpods and ah, silenced. You'll find it all here in these transcripts." 

Espio pushed away the offered info monitor. "That's not possible. She's alive – the robberies, that fire at the Corvalis museum!" 

"Oh, _those_." Kimoto twirled a turkey leg in his claws and flicked it away dismissively. "Tantalizing morsels of mischief, aren't they? Curious who would operate so boldly when even my organization has been ah, limited by the Guardians' recent security step-ups." He eyed the chameleon carefully. 

"But you're not suggesting that my intelligence is incorrect, would you, little morsel?" 

"You bet I am!" He stood up to make his point. "She's alive." The great lizard was sniggering, mocking him – he fired a new approach. "The Sniper is looking for her!" 

"Fang is looking at a lost cause. Gamy little fellow, isn't he? I used to hire him for security – brilliant mind, but with a tendency for clumsiness when he puts those ideas to action. Clearly the Queen's legacy has outlasted her life – even now fools such as yourself are adding an unnecessary dessert to this completed meal." 

It was time for the big guns. "No, you're wrong! People have seen her; I can prove it – I have her diary, taken right out of her apartment." 

Vector, like the dim bulb he was, scrunched his face confusedly at the secret revealed, but Kimoto only finished off his hardy laugh with a glass of wine. "My dear fool, that little quiche Grinder has plenty of leftover trinkets that belonged to the Queen. Anyone could have picked up this little booklet. A copycat. Or an admirer, hmm?" 

The chameleon was regularly silent and stoic, but his stillness now was a wordless panic. Espio withdrew to his seat, turning from Vector's scrutinizing glare. 

"Well gentlemen, I believe this concludes our meal. Good night." 

**……….**

Jairdan, that rambling old frill-neck had been right: This thief was someone new. "Atelerix," Espio muttered to himself. 

Past midnight and the city of lights had dimmed its palette to reflect the deepening darkness. Hot, jazzy pink and electric yellow cooled to a mournful baby blue. Even the fluorescent-tube walls felt lousy. 

Everything was growing clearer – the grass on this little terrace? It was the soft felt of a billiards table. And the palm tree Charmy moped underneath? It was a curved metal pole with glowing neon fronds! The entire city was fake – one giant, electronic slot machine, a flashy show to sucker in fools. Just like this dud case Vector had lead them down! 

Said crocodile channeled his letdown into angry pacing around the balcony, and he filled his back-and-forth rut by catching up on his reading. The croc clapped the diary shut, none too pleased. "So when were ya gonna tell me 'bout this book?" 

Espio had no strength to even toss a knife. He twirled the kunai between gloved claws, wasted. And still Vector pressed on. 

"The book was none of your business." The words were a thin whisper gathering to strength. Espio spun, snatched the diary to his chest and turned away, determined not to share this one great memento. _I won't be caged any longer – I want to spread my wings and fly, to dazzle as something great!_

The dim bulb persisted in his delusions. "We ain't done yet, boys; we gadda look back at teh beginning – teh museum…" 

"Oh _shut up_, Vector!" She was gone, and all her freedom and bounty money gone with her. Goodbye Las Adrianna bachelor penthouse, hi again communal cardboard box! _Broken_ cardboard box. _I don't deserve that mediocrity._

"Vecter?" Charmy nervously pierced the argument. "Now where do we go?" 

Espio could feel the pain rolling off the man's heart. What could be said that would not upset the child? Was there any home left for them? The crocodile turned away, nursing a headache. 

The balcony doors stumbled open. "Well hey there, band boys." It was Jet – wobbly on his feet and with a lopsided grin so ill timed, Espio wanted to punch the mammal for interrupting their solemnity. "I guess you musicians just needed some air too, eh?" 

The coyote sniggered to himself. "_Musicians_," he repeated, letting them know the jig was up. "Nyah, don't worry – I don't give two bits who you guys are. 

"So where's the runt? I thought he was gonna be your tour guide or somethin'." 

"_Grinder?_" Vector replied, stressing his disgust, "That liddle sneak can't even give ya a straight answer – gotta haul ya halfway through teh province ta tell ya squat." The croc snorted and joined his partner's distant stare. "'Sides, teh punk's _busy_. Had ta go catch a phone call." 

"Phone call?" Jet's tone was confused but clear-minded. "Whadya mean 'phone call'?" 

A shrug. "I dunno – some buddy 'o his named Stuart gave 'im a call." 

The coyote was incredulous. "A buddy? What are you yammerin' about? No one knows Grinder's here – we came incognito!" 

A cold aura jerked up each and every head. Jet reached for his gun holster. "Where did the kid go?" 

Charmy whipped to the air. "Floor Thirty-Six! That's what he said, I rumember!" 

Coyote, crocodile and chameleon met eyes and bolted inside the tower, jamming into a glass-capsule elevator. Charmy buzzed just in time to nip his nose in the closing doors. He banged on the wall and pouted. 

"You guys suck! You always leave me behind, and have all the fun!" 

**……….**

The reception desk on floor thirty-six was a shocking reminder of their vandalized apartment. Chairs scattered, papers strewn on the red-carpeted floor; everywhere signs of a struggle. Spent rolls of duct tape hinted at the object of search. 

"Drag marks." Espio pointed to the floor, and the twin trenches dug by limp heels through the chosen hallway of exit. They caught up quickly, having no weight but their own to pull. 

The kidnapper was panting, having transferred the rat over his shoulder, a human tall and long-limbed like a stork to the point of being awkward. A shag of blonde hair covered his neck and ears; a scholarly turtleneck and olive jacket was his new black. The human flashed one look behind and fired kill shots at his pursuers. Jet and the Chaotix barely dodged. 

The human adjusted his load and completed his run, dashing through a door to the night air outside. The exit whisked shut, trapping the team. 

"That was a taxi platform out there!" Jet cursed and doubled back to find another exit. Vector bashed and pounded the sealed door. 

"Open up!" he howled. A golden information monitor made its presence known with an electronic raspberry. _Access denied_, flashed its screen. Vector turned his aggression to shaking the bobbing computer. "I said open up!" Again it blatzed and ix-nayed. _Corridor locked. Access denied._

The croc raised a fist – his money card gleamed between the knuckles – and slashed at the pay-slot. "Open, open, open!" he bellowed. 

The monitor gave a cash register's _ching!_ and the door swished away. _Transaction complete_, beeped the little pod. 

Espio blanked stupid for a moment. "Did you just bribe a computer?" 

Vector wasted no time racing out the catwalk, to the landing pad now discharging a levitating taxi pod. They had precious few seconds before the flight accelerated; the pilot had already begun his vertical descent. 

Fearless and impulsive to the point of stupidity, Vector pumped his fists to the edge and leapt. Not far behind, Espio groaned his head off at his idiot of a partner, snapped his ninja daggers to the ready, and with an invigorating war cry (kaze no kizu!) made a spread-eagle dive into freefall. 

They slammed onto the arena only instants apart, their missile-drops pitching the craft into a jerk and a wobble. Vector snarled, and the kidnapper spun, his identity revealed in a flash-snap of light. "So, it's Stuart this time, is it?" 

A sardonic smile and shrug. "As you like. Stuart; Franklin, Smithson … it seems I keep many names." The Enforcer from the docks raised a delicate hand to readjust his gleaming half-moon spectacles. 

"Ah, the renegades," he grinned, a handsome smile, still the presence of cool sophistication as his blonde hair whipped through the wind. "Still you persist in meddling with affairs beyond your petty existence." 

The arena floated into a plaza surrounded by cool blue floats, high above the city spread beneath their feet like a monstrous wheel. Vector had both hands on his gun. "Back off the kid, greaseball. I don't care if yer military, you ain't layin' anudder finger on that punk!" 

"Go ahead, shoot." The Guardian spy snatched his trophy capture by the neck and pulled him up as shielding. "Tell me how lucky you feel." 

Vector lowered his tazer. Espio snarled and ended his attack crouch. 

"Much obliged," nodded the man of many names. "You've suffered me a great deal of trouble and embarrassment, gentlemen. I'll accept apology and payment with your lives." 

The Guardian raised his miniature spy pistol, raised it above his head and fired into the dark air, throwing out an explosion of sound. He spun and aimed at the floats, shattering fluorescent-light walls into dark patches. An underhand toss flipped the spent gun to Vector's claws. "Catch!" 

The Chaotix stared as though he'd gone mad, but the sudden drone of helicopter fans only proved the cunning of the agent called Stuart. 

Hoverpods floated up along all sides of the arena in robotic unison, sizzling with electric tazers and priming adhesive-spray cannons. Stuart cackled. "Get Them!" he barked, and crouched at the railing with his hostage to avoid the mess. 

Ventral cannons swiveled and a gooey blast pasted Vector's hands, congealing and freezing the spy pistol in a cemented block. Espio, three years overdue for payback, fanned his weapons and jumped at! Electric bursts threw the interfering lizard off his feet, allowing the squad of metal-heads to continue with Vector, circling closer while the croc swung his cemented fist as an impromptu mace. 

But they ignored Espio. "V-Man – it's the gun!" The robots had followed the gunshots like signal flares, and now they were neutralizing the shooter! Vector caught on quickly (Thank small miracles), ducked and smashed open his cast against the arena floor. A deft toss sent the gun to Espio. 

The hoverpods followed like dogs after a stick. _Okay then, now what?_

"Espio, Espio! Over here, I'm open!" Charmy! Waving his little hands and buzzing in close pursuit. Espio thought nothing of tossing the firearm to the kid. 

The little fumble-fingers actually caught it, and the hoverpods shifted target accordingly. The honeybee tucked down his goggles and blew a raspberry, "Nah-nah! Can't catch me!" and shot off into the blue-light cityscape with the swarm burning on his tail. 

Vector was, suffice to say, a nervous wreck. Then he saw the opportunity afforded: the unprotected Guardian, snarling and backpedaling to the arena edge. 

"Just you 'n me one more time," the croc grinned, kicking the downed shell of a hoverpod. "Or d'ya wanna throw out any more 'o yer tin cans fer recyclin'?" 

Stuart gripped the railing with one hand, Grinder with another while his face flickered behind and below, analyzing options. It stopped – spotting something underneath, and another handsome grin perked. 

"Don't rapture in your excitement too soon, gentlemen." He grinned, sweeping light across his spectacles. "Those drones were the easy ones!" 

The cavalry arrived with a low, foreboding fan-drone. A giant hoverpod rose behind the Enforcer like a silvery shadow, sporting horizontal thrusters tucked under its propeller top. Gleaming bayonets thrust from each engine intake, and a precision laser cannon mounted along the T-visor face. 

The deadliest air-combat artillery to push off the Military Division's assembly line. The GUN-Hawk. 

Its single eye had already tagged the Chaotix with laser tracers – it's cannon 'mouth' prepping for fire. The Reptiles flinched; the Enforcer gleamed. 

Bulletfire pelted off the Hawk's armor. "Oi! You're messin' with the Black Cobras, school-boy!" All heads turned – the Hawk rotated to the new threat – to the incoming taxi pod piloted by a scruffy coyote and making no effort to slow down. 

Jet's every shot skritched meaningless sparks over the automobile-sized air-artillery, but his kamikaze rush kept coming. "That's right! Turn over here – got a present right here, big ugly!" 

The Hawk rotated nozzles and fired its glue gun, hammering the coyote off his feet. Behind his gag, Grinder muffled a scream. 

Jet's arena refused to decelerate. Even the Hawk knew what was coming, and boosted vertical. The quartet of combatants trapped at fixed altitude joined in a blank gawk of unavoidable doom. 

The arena had wobbled for Vector and Espio's jumps; receiving the full momentum of a speeding transport was like swinging a mallet into a nail. The pod hammered forward and tipped like a cup. The Chaotix were pitched off their feet. Grinder, sprawled on the flooring, rolled with gravity and was saved by the guardrails. Stuart, pressing his weight to the walls, crashed and flipped over the rail, shrieking as he tumbled over the edge. 

**……….**

"Vecter, Vecter, wake up!" 

He'd been unconscious for only seconds; the worried voice was the second thing to revive him – second because the kid was standing on his snout, booties blocking his nostrils. Vector flailed to his knees, coughing and refocusing the world as Charmy had found them. 

The pod was dented and mangled; sparks shot from the undercarriage and hairline cracks carved through the glass floor. Espio had woken already, and was ripping the tape from a captured Grinder's muzzle. Altogether there were three passengers. 

Vector's heart went cold. His head bowed in prayer. 

Grinder vocalized his panic as soon as his jaws could move. "Jet! What happened to him? Where'd he …" 

The coyote's taxi bobbed an unreachable head above their busted arena, and the GUN-Hawk puttered in close contact with the subdued driver. "That Hawk ain't leavin' till the cops come ta pick 'im up," Vector noted. A radio for police lock-up had probably been sent already. 

He let gravity crash his bottom to the floor. "Guess this is the end," he sighed. Espio, Grinder and Charmy all turned to attention. Vector explained. "Pod's busted – we're sittin' ducks here till they arrest us. … For murder." 

Stranded in a sea of black sky, waiting for the executioner. Espio had a better idea – he was swinging his legs over the railing. Vector bolted – "Esp, NO!" 

World-weary was the look of the chameleon. "Step off, Fathead, I'm just gonna jump." 

In two seconds, Vector clamped the wriggler in a bear hug. "NO! I won't let you – I ain't losin' my best friend!" 

"Aww, c'mon Vecter – let um do it!" 

_CHARMY?_ "You liddle monster! I aughta whack you – you think people dyin' is fun?" 

Grinder interceded with a nervous cough. "Mr. Vector, ah, we're right next to a casino." 

A glance out. The giant slot machine casino stretched over Vector's vision, three-story tumblers rolling billboard sized 7s and assorted fruit. A glance beneath. Taxi landing pads ringed the tower like extended arms not five feet below. Stuart was sprawled flat on his side like a rag doll, muttering something about bird watching. 

A glance to self. Crushed under his arms, Espio released a most foul sneer and growl. Vector grinned sheepishly and lowered the chameleon back on his feet. The creeper kicked out his shin, of course. 

Careful jumps set them down on solidly fixed land with only a wince and sore knees. Grinder insisted they rescue Jet, but between the hovering GUN-Hawk and the curious pedestrians gathering, Vector had no intention of staying. "Start walkin' boys. Unless you wanna see Las Adrianna jail cells." 

Charmy's eyes sparkled as though he'd won a lottery, so Vector stuffed the kid back in his knapsack. Thank goodness they'd held onto their belongings. 

"What about him?" Espio tapped a boot towards the Guardian agent, wobbling off consciousness. His left leg was twisted into a most unnatural position, broken probably. 

Concerned bystanders were finding the courage to jog close. Vector made a quick decision and pulled the human up by the collar, wrapping a meaty arm around the man's shoulders and hoping a fierce grip looked like a friendly pat on the back. 

"Ho ho! Hey buddy, gotta watch that first step!" Vector grinned for the crowds, hoping his charms were fully charged. "He's okay, folks," he grinned, "just had a bit too much wobbly-pop, right buddy?" Using his tail, he shook the human's head in a nod. 

An eye-jerk at his boys told them to pick up the pace and they jogged into the crowds, each one hamming up the friendly, happy banter and big smiles, as though they hadn't just come out of a car accident and were kidnapping an unconscious government agent. 

"I know a place we can crash," Grinder whispered once they slipped deep enough into the crowds. "Turn right, onto that walkway over there." 

They allowed the Cobra mascot to guide them through the suspended platforms, though no amount of tension was spared between the parties. "Hope yer happy, kid," Vector whispered between smiles for the passersby. "Jet just gave up 'is life so you could get away." 

"Turn left," was all the boy said. 

"Y'know, you gotta lot o' nerve, messin' with us kid! You drag us halfway 'cross the province just so yer boss can tell us yer brother's girlfriend is dead! … D'ya know how many times we could 'a gotten killed 'cause o' you?" 

Grinder kept a stiff upper lip. 

"Y'know, I hoid all sorts o' stuff bout yer brother – an lemmie say he may o' been a crook, but he sounded darn decent!" 

"You shut up about my brother!" A chink in that rock armor; Espio _hmm_ed proudly to his partner. 

"I thought you had guts kid, but Jet was right 'bout what he said back at teh shop. Yer slime! An I'm glad Jax ain't around no more ta see what a weasely, washed-up creeper you turned inta!" 

"Maybe that's why the runt's so mad every time someone mentions Jax and his girlfriend?" 

Vector nodded. "Y'can't stand what he'd think o' you. Well I'm glad they're with teh Lord – maybe the two o' them can be happy together – " 

Grinder spun against the formation, startling bystanders with his outburst. "Don't you talk about my brother like that you – you Leatherhides! You don't know anything! You think they were really that wonderful together? Or that Jax was the only one she was seeing? You think Amber loved him? Look what she did to him – she killed my brother!" 

"Broken hearts don't kill people," Espio snorted. "We heard it all – bounty hunter got him." 

Teeth-clenching anger fought against his reply. "Who do you think that hunter was really gunning for?" 

**……….**

"You think you know Jax? Let me tell you – My brother was a courier for the Black Cobras: He was the one out on the road carrying and delivering contraband. Jax was doing all the dirty work while Kimoto stuffed his face; Jax would've been the first arrested if the cops ever made a bust – my brother risked his life so he could take care of us! 

"After he proposed and that … that witch, Amber disappeared, Jax lost it. Spaced out – wouldn't eat, wouldn't go to the clubhouses; got clumsy with his job. He never smiled anymore. He was like that almost a year before Amber crawled back: 

"Middle of the night, someone started banging on our door, swearing and yelling to open up. Jax dragged himself to answer; I snuck downstairs to see who it was. 

"She looked wasted. Cold, wet; her clothes were ripped and that hair was all over her face. She'd been shot; she was bleeding bad and going into shock." 

The boy gave a dark, amused and Espio-ish smile. "She was being hunted." 

"The best part was that she couldn't figure out why the merc was after her. She'd robbed so many people, she'd two-timed so many groups it was tough to decide who felt brave enough to get some payback. 

"So there she was: sopping wet, holding off the flow from her arm and just ticking down the hours before the hunter caught her trail, and the only person she could go to for help was the poor little rat boy she used to date over a year back. She couldn't think of anyone else who would help her. 

"If I could have moved my legs, I would have slammed that door right in her pretty little face, for what she'd put my brother through. Jax didn't even move the whole time – just looked at her with that cold look he wore ever since …" 

Grinder hid his face in his bangs. "Even after all that time, he still … He still couldn't let her go. Jax – stupid, lovesick Jax – he let her in. He fixed up her arm, and fed her and held her like she was the most beautiful thing in his life." 

His fists clenched until they trembled. "Didn't take the hunter long to show up at our front yard. We could have thrown her out the door right then and she'd have gotten hers! … But Jax … he pulled me upstairs, to her old room where she was resting, gave me his ankle gun and told me I couldn't let anyone through the door. He already had his pistol. 

"We saw it all from the window. They each … they each …" 

Grinder smeared the tears from his eyes. "When it was over … she got up, nice and calm. She didn't say anything, she didn't bat an eye – she just … left." 

Words scattered from the Chaotix. Vector was too outraged for talk; Espio clutched at his diary, hiding confusion. It was Charmy who voiced judgment. "That's so mean! Vecter, why would somebody do that?" 

The detectives looked between each other. "Grinder, we …" 

"Oh clamp it. Look, we're here." 

The confession had taken them into one of the blue and gold floats, and down a glass elevator to a private penthouse secured at the very bottom of suspended bulb. The door opened only for a personal ID card and Grinder's retinal scan. 

Inside rested a suite of mind-blowing luxury. Carpeting, sunken Jacuzzi, a loaded bar; all draped in passionate reds bearing a diamond motif. The circular walls were covered in floor-to-ceiling mirrors. 

"My brother bought this place for her. We were going to move here after they married." 

A voice coughed from within the decadence. "You've brought thugs, have you, Grinder?" The speaker was hoarse and drained of vitality. "So – I've become too great a burden?" 

The Chaotix were hard pressed to zero in on the man; the glass walls multiplied everything. An old human, in a cheap collar and tie, bags under his weary eyes and winter's age in his remnants of white hair and sagging icicle mustache. 

"This is who I was trying to tell you about at the shop," Grinder explained. "The reason G.U.N. wants me so bad. The guy who knows the Red Queen better than anyone." 

He was older than Espio expected, but he recognized the human by title. Ellie's third and final figure of respect. "Mortimer Arella." 

**……….**

For years, the small Station Square pawnshop _Arella Antiques_ had served as smugglers storage and distribution site. From his legitimate work running the shop, Arella had met Ellie Slater, "back when she was still Ellie Slater. Pulled in a good haul with all the trinkets she sold me." 

From his criminal ties as a smuggler, he'd met Jax of the Black Cobras. "Sellin' stolen watches by day, hidin' contraband by night," Vector summarized. "Ain't you a piece o' work, ol' man." 

Arella grinned shamelessly. "I'm a regular superman, all right". The lines in his face told Vector the man had once smiled often, and made others to smile as well. Now his vitality flickered in and out of conversation with cynical one-liners. _Talk about decay!_

"He's quitting the business," Grinder said on the old human's behalf. "Someone ratted out his operation and now there's a warrant for his arrest. He had to bail on his granddaughter because of this. Arella knows a lot of people; if they put him on trial, it'll be Jairdan Aldon all over again." 

"Guess your Family wouldn't be too interested in this loose cannon," Espio grunted. 

Grinder raised his head defiantly. "I'm keeping him hidden until I can work out a passport and get him overseas. He's an old friend, and it's what Jax would have done." 

"I'm paying him, " Arella added. 

"So you sent us to Kimoto so we wouldn't find out about this old mammal – " 

"– an' drag 'is wrinkly hide inta prison!" Vector finished, cracking his knuckles. "Boys, I'd say we're due fer some compensation." 

Charmy was plain confused. "But Vecter, why does the army want these guys if that Ellie-lady is gone?" 

"I believe," spoke a sophisticated voice lying on the sofa, "that I've been brought here to answer those questions." All eyes at the bar swiveled to the Guardian, left to rest on a sofa but now sitting up and fiddling with a thin medpac pulled from his jacket. A splint had already been laid down his damaged leg and he worked casually to fasten it with medical gauze. Neither injury nor his company seemed to faze the agent – this was just another day at the office. 

Vector prowled over to his hostage. "So how 'bout it, _Stuart _– what's the old man an teh mascot worth teh ya bosses?" 

He didn't even glance up to acknowledge. "Oh you mistake me, detective. Capturing the boy was an added bonus. For the last week, my target has been _you_." 

Charmy gasped. Espio crossed his arms. If Vector's eyes could have fired laser beams, they would have deep-fried the chameleon. "Let's have it, Espio." 

The chameleon gave a relenting sigh, like a little boy forced to surrender his toys and go to bed, and popped off his smelly, duct-taped boot to fish out a small laminated card. Dutifully, he relinquished his prize to the crocodile. 

**G.U.N.**   
Guardians of the United Nation:   
_Intelligence Division_

Agent Derek Smithson   
Level 5 Security Clearance 

"Threw it in the trash, didja?" How had he ever fallen for the creeper's excuses? Vector snorted and turned again to Stuart. "Must be pretty important, eh?" 

"Too important for an idiotic civilian. Kindly return it so I can continue my work." He stretched an arm, but Vector lifted the card out of reach. 

"Ah-uh-uh." He waggled his finger. "I give you things, you give me things. About teh case. About yerself. _Squid-rho-bro._ (Espio groaned). Yes or nope?" 

Stuart glared beneath his spectacles. "Yes or nope, Stu? Poor little Derek's waitin'." 

The dangling identification card was too powerful a need and the spy repeated his mission briefings. "Espionage agent E-74. Mission objective: pursuit and termination. Target," he sneered, "_that Ellie-lady_." 

Vector squeezed the card to demonstrate just how easily it could snap. Stuart paled. "It's no lie. Your Red Queen is alive." 

"Oh?" Vector cross-examined. "Kimoto says she's done like dinner." 

"Kimoto's information came from the Guardians," Arella interrupted. "And the Guardians make a profitable business out of lying." 

No arguments from Vector and Espio. "She called you a 'trusted friend', old man," quoted the chameleon. 

"Did she? Well I aught to be. I knew Ellie Slater from the beginning – back when she needed a stool to see over the display counters in my shop." He chuckled reminiscently. "Took a long time to know her – at first she'd just trade her things and be off, business-like. If I asked where her clothes or jewelry were coming from she'd stick out her tongue and leave. 

"She never spoke except to haggle, but I could tell she was looking for an outlet. She was smart – always watching things closely, and once she figured out what really went on at the store, she started to tell me everything: not just what she shoplifted or extorted, but methods as well. 

"Intriguing …" Stuart muttered. Vector slapped his ear as a 'clamp it'. 

"She kept coming back through Jairdan, through her big cases; I kept seeing her even after she left poor Jax. Always said she visited to sell some junk or because she wanted information, but we both knew what she really wanted. 

Espio leaned in. "And that was …" 

"The same thing she wanted when she left those calling cards at her heists: To be worshiped." 

A great muttering and snorting rolled from the audience. Only Espio nodded. "Then," Arella continued, "about three years back she just disappeared; Kimoto made a big fuss of her botched job and I figured that was that." 

Stuart jumped into the conversation. Arella didn't seem to mind the extra audience. "When was it she first contacted you?" 

"Almost two years after the death announcements. Little minx broke into my house in the middle of the night, scared the wits out of me." 

Espio jumped at the chance to learn her greatest heist. "Did she say how she escaped the execution?" 

Grinder gave a disbelieving shake of the head; Stuart sniggered ("fools," he muttered). Arella decided he would be the one to break the news. 

"The Guardians never tried to kill her. They recruited her. She said she was put in some covert-ops. program. The 'Enforcers', or something." 

A cold and merciless aura gripped at the chameleon. The words of his very own comic book conspiracies crashed his mind in a floodburst: 

_Enforcers. They're this secret covert-ops. program G.U.N. keeps under wraps. … Phantom agents operating outside the system. … The guys who assassinate world leaders and sabotage the Doctor. …One-man armies._

Stuart was happy to feed his uncertainty with more information. "The high council understood who _Solomon_ had sent on infiltration; the strengths and potential our prisoner possessed. She was exchanged amnesty from her crimes for uncompromising loyalty to the Guardians of the United Nation. We purified her – programmed her to fight, to handle weaponry; our instructors sharpened her stealth to invisibility and we burned all fear from her mind. She became the ninety-first to accept the title of the Enforcer." 

Mortimer Arella related his single, clandestine meeting with the new Ellie Slater. "She was excited – glad to see me, or glad to be free awhile, I don't know, but there was an eagerness bubbling in her tight-lipped smile. She was … damaged. She had trouble remembering. She knew who she was, but … specific events seemed … hazy. You could tell just by looking that she'd been tortured. 

"Oh, but she couldn't have been happier … 

_"They could have finished me off right then, but they didn't, Morty. I was too special – too exceptional – to pass up. And now they're paying little ol' me to steal and dig up secrets and_ (she'd faultered) … _to get rid of people … _(She'd grinned madly). _It's a rush! I'm living proof, Morty: There is always a way out!"_

"After the ARK Incident, headquarters lost all contact with Ninety-One." E-74 Stuart almost seemed pleased, to finally have the impure elements wiped from his covert regiment. "The loss of Prison Island left us ill-organized; it was some time before we interpreted her communications blackout as defection. Myself and two others have been charged with her elimination." 

The whisper from Espio's dried-out throat was no longer intentional. "V-Man … All those hoverpods … G.U.N. blaming things on the Doctor … this isn't about some dumb catburglar…" 

This was a manhunt for a rogue agent. 

Charmy had followed as best as he could, and understood enough to cower behind Vector's legs. This phantom thief could strike them at any time, and all the hoverpods and GUN-Hawks in the fleet couldn't protect them. 

Stuart's smile was triumphant. "Now you understand the depths of this crisis. On with business, then: You will return my security keycard so I may resolve this national emergency." 

Espio would have nothing of it – he stormed between crocodile and Enforcer, ripping the card from Vector's claws. He'd observed the suite to lack any and all garbage cans. Backflipping over the barstools, Espio waved the card with a flourish, transferred it to his other claw and shoved it down the garbage disposal chute. 

More deserved revenge. Stuart responded in sarcasm. "Why thank you. Just how do you propose to retrieve it?" 

A very loopy grin was forming over Vector's face. Stuart caught the look, and freaked. 

" … No – you wouldn't _dare_!" 

The Enforcer was a lightweight, and since his leg was injured, Vector did the polite thing and pitched him down headfirst. "Squid-rho-bro!" Charmy waved in goodbye as he wailed into nothing. 

Now it was only Grinder and the old man, waiting their judgment. "Kid, you'd better find a new hidin' place fer 'im." 

They boy nodded and departed to pack, leaving a curious Arella. "So, you're still going after Eleanor? Even now that you know what she's become?" 

Espio looked away and played with his knives, but Vector pounded forward. "Count on it! Tell us where she's hidin', old man, an we'll put her away!" Charmy chirped his unswerving agreement. 

He was too old to take them seriously, but loyalty didn't weigh very heavily on the apathetic man either. "This should be good for a chuckle," he grinned. He called for pen and paper and began writing instructions. 

"You know, she stopped by here a few months back to hide out. A little bothered that I was using her love nest, but she'd been hoping to find me anyway. You see: she needed a reference…" 

Arella tore off the sheet of notepaper. "Ellie always worked alone, but like anyone, she needed contacts to help research security and to provide equipment. Go down to this address, and you'll find the man I set her up with. He'll know where she's hiding." 

Charmy struggled to read over Vector's shoulder. "Sharps … th-the … Chick-en?" 

"A hacker. Not much of a man, but he can crack anything electronic if you've got the pocketbook for it." 

Vector nodded but did not thank the crook. His last words were for Grinder. "Hey kid!" The boy in the oversized clothing turned. 

"I'm gonna catch her fer ya. Fer Jax. She's gonna get what she deserves." 

The boy almost snorted in ridicule. Something in the crocodile's look – the sheer determination – held his face in check and Grinder gave a thankful nod. 

Antsy little Charmy broke the moment. "Why are we still waitin'? C'mon, let's go, Go, GO!" 

**

--------------------------

**

A tourist bus sped them out of Las Adrianna's metal oasis and into the desert night. Espio could not sleep. Vector was taking a chain saw to his logs, but he could find no peace. The diary he kept close to his chest while he sorted Grinder's apocryphal story into the woman he knew. 

At the core there was Ellie S. Anarchy, guts, and a constant desire to garner achievement. Seven years ago she escaped her home to pursue greatness, driving her mother to madness as she left. She became Natalie Velika, apprentice to the catburglar Jairdan and disposed of him when she could learn no more. 

Back six years she courted a fool named Jax, while gathering notoriety and name among the underworld. 

Five years past, she flew to the heights of ambition, revealing herself teasingly to the public eye as they mythical Red Queen. She hunted treasures through museums, casinos, mansions; topped it all by plucking the massively guarded Hope Emerald. 

She unveiled herself to those near as Amber Auryon. As Arya Rane she scattered and buried her spoils for safekeeping. 

Then the Guardians did the unthinkable and caged her. 

Espio had learned from her own hand what contempt had smoldered under the fatherly restrictions of Jairdan. So what rage had burned and fed over three years of slavery? 

Arella had given him a photograph as he'd last seen her. A family portrait, with a tiny Grinder and the hands of a proud older brother resting on his shoulder. She kept to the background: two bronzed arms wrapped around Jax in a possessive embrace, her face peeking out behind his shoulder with a smile shaped into a wicked purr. Half her face was veiled in lustrous white hair, and the jade eye that escaped winked a beautiful poison. 

_When it was over … she got up, nice and calm. She didn't say anything, she didn't bat an eye – she just … left._

He sat awake deep into the journey, studying the picture like a mirror. 

**

--------------------------

**

The last leg of their quest was the industrial brick-and-smokestack city of Westopolis – not exactly a hip or trendy hangout for a computer freak, but Vector reasoned that could be part of the hacker's m.o. 

They marched into the city slums as Arella's map pointed, and down an alley to a back entrance raised on a stoop. Vector knocked on the door, waited, and finally knocked it open. A poor and frightened nest of moles quivered at the home invaders, but no fowl. 

While Vector begged apology, Espio's foot tapped impatiently – and the chameleon noted the hollow _thunk_ produced against the stoop. There were hinges on the topmost step, and it lifted to reveal a conspicuous staircase to the basement apartment. The Chaotix piled down – surely this was a sign of an underworld hacker – so that only Charmy noticed the funny, wheel-missin' motorbike parked deep in the alley, the red rocket with the license plate YLD CRD. 

The basement grotto was dark to minimize screen glare, and narrowed by disordered filing cabinets. Stronger light issued from the room up ahead, as did heated argument. 

"_Nyaah_, c'mon ya dumb cluck, where is she?" 

An avian shriek and the rattling of shelves hit about the same time. "Bkaaw! Please, I don't know a thing – AAH!" Another smash. A phone started ringing. 

"Yer lyin', featherbag!" 

The Chaotix burst in at an advantage – Nack had the panicky rooster up by the neck, (feathers scattering with every slam to the wall) and the sharpshooter had to drop, spin, and pull out his pistols while Vector was fully prepared for a shot. 

His tazer wire hit shoulder, and weasel became spazing victim to an industrial-sized bug-zapper. 

The bounty hunter collapsed, his fur up on ends. Sharps (they presumed) panted against the wall. Vector marched forward to hoist the rat by his tail and finish the job. His rival was vindictive as ever. 

"Big … mistake," Nack coughed. "Next time … _oh_ I'm gonna enjoy next time." 

Vector snorted the threats off. "Sure, whatever," and with the practiced efficiency of a pub bouncer, the big croc tossed the weasel up the basement stairs, not bothering to stay and hear the _thwack_ against the pavement. 

Back in the computer den, Sharps was wasting no time recouping his loses. The rooster pale-blue from the computer light squatted along the floor, sweeping up his molted feathers. "Umm, umm, the manager didn't send you guys … did he? I'm paid up, I swear!" 

'Chicken' was a feminine species but Sharps earned the title on account of his albino colouring. White-feathered with beady red eyes, his plumage molted at the slightest distress. 

"Let's cut ta teh chase, Sharpy. Where's teh Red Queen?" 

That question alone was enough to make the rooster drop his load – and then some. "Red Queen?" he stuttered. "Ooh nonononono. I've never heard of any Queen. I debug video games; I'm not a hacker." Producing a glue stick, he slathered up handfuls of his plumage and began pasting them back on the more patchy areas. 

The phone continued ringing all this time. A special phone, flashing with an important red button and Sharps only now reacted. The Chaotix were faster: Espio stepped to block and Vector nabbed the rooster and Charmy decided he'd better switch on the speakerphone. 

Everyone cringed. 

"Hul –" Espio snapped his hand over the kid's mouth and Vector squeezed a muffling _Bkaaw!_ out of the bird for cover. 

_"Oh Sha-arps…"_ A honeysweet voice, lyrical and playful filled the grotto with angelic music. Espio had to hold his heart to keep it in place. Was this … 

The rooster whimpered, but the crocodile's teeth said 'play along'. "Umm, umm, hi Red." 

The voice, the music – it was like silk ribbons winding around Espio's body. _"What's the status on the emeralds from the Corvalis museum?"_

"Umm, umm, I'm still tracking down the leftovers. I – I am working on it! Honest!" 

A smooth, easy sigh. _"Everything all right, Sharpy?"_

He consulted with the crocodile, and followed the guiding yes-nod. "Uhh, uhh, yes?" 

Silk ribbons morphed into serpent coils. _"Well they won't if you don't get your act together! Understood?"_

"Yeah … I got it, Red." 

_"Lovely. Chao babe!"_

A harsh click broke their connection, and Espio woke up from his daze. 

Sharps, now looking guilty as sin rushed into a defense. "I don't know where she is – we work over the phone and she always scrambles her calls!" 

"Oh, an you can't trace 'em at all?" Vector snarled. 

"NO! … I mean – I could if I wanted but … why would I … I mean, besides curiosity …" His every babbled word only dug his grave deeper; the geek was practically sweating feathers. 

"Listen, Sharps, yer makin' three mistakes here. One – you think stealin' over computers doesn't make ya a thief. Two – you think I'm gonna be nice 'cause I saved ya from teh Sniper. An' Three … You think all I'm gonna do is talk." 

Vector grinned, and Sharps cowered in the shadow of the monstrous Chaotix. 

"Ohnoz." 

**

……….

**

The look on Charmy's face told that he'd never known what fun flushing a toilet could be. The water swirled, and Sharps went face-first for another dunk. 

"How 'bout know," Vector quizzed, bouncing the rooster up and down like a plunger. "Or y'wanna move on ta pink bellies?" 

"Bkaaw! I give! (Oh Lord, this is high school all over again.) _She's in Serena!"_

Vector snorted and began another dip. "Never hoid of it!" 

"That's why!" This time Sharps got his wings on the toilet seat, pushing against. His face was blue from the bowl cleaner and sobbing. "It's a mountain town up on the northern border, one of those old-fashioned anthro colonies!" 

_"Sehr-enna,"_ Vector mumbled. Even the pronunciation was traditional. He let the rooster drop to the floor and scatter his drippy feathers. 

"There's a – a little valley up in the Blue Mountains. The place is too small to have hoverpods watching. That's where she's set up camp. I swear!" 

The rooster was too exhausted to be lying. "Listen up – when we get there, if she's expecting us –" 

"You think I'm gonna tell? She'd make me into a feather duster! I'm leaving!" he announced, running to unplug his equipment. "Once she's through with you, she'll be comin' after me! 

"Unless I …" 

The cowardly rooster was pondering something dangerous. But when confronted he only spazzed and started waving a keyboard like a farmer and his pitchfork. "Get out! Get out before I call the cops, you bully! I'm in enough trouble already!" 

The Chaotix fled, stoned by a one-man mob and his bowl of stale Cheetos. A can of Mountain Dew knocked the back of Vector's head. 

Outside, Nack had already dragged his crispy carcass away on his bike. The familiar wolf-howl grew faint and distant. "Hmph! _Next time_," Vector snorted, confident there would be none. 

"Boys, next stop … _last_ stop," he reiterated. "Serena!" 

**

--------------------------

**

They found a train able to take them north, although they would have to make transfers along the way. It didn't really matter now that they had a final destination. 

Before leaving, they visited an electronics store and splurged on spyware. Here in an otherwise emptied car, Charmy and the detectives ogled their fancy binoculars, cameras and walkie-talkies – all gleaming with an unfamiliar newness. 

"So alls we gotta do is get a picture, or tape her in tha town, and we can get the army ta come an arrest her, right?" 

Vector couldn't help but enjoy the kid's excitement. "You bet kiddo! Fifteen thousand big ones! Two … nah, let's make it a three-way split!" 

"Really? I get ta make money with you guys? Like a real detective!" 

"Ah sure, you earned it kiddo." 

Something was warbling in the boy's eyes, but before Vector could get a good look the honeybee launched himself at his neck, burying his face in a grateful hug. He was paralyzed. 

"Thank you, Vecter. … An, an you too, Espio." The chameleon mumbled something about getting some air and took some distance before he could get tackle-glomped. 

"I'm gonna miss you guys," Charmy smiled, arranging himself on the table. "But this is awesome! You guys can use your money for whatever, an I'll have my own an' use it ta go home! Right Vecter?" 

The crocodile was only just regaining focus. "Huh? Oh yeah, yeah! But y'gatta slow down, kid. First we gotta find yer mom 'n dad." 

The simple logic stunned him. "Oh yeah," he recalled, but then fresh on the return, "Hey Vecter, tell me again all those great ideas you had to find 'em!" 

"Umm, uh…" His tail tapped out panic. The chameleon slouched across the aisle pulled a book over his face when consulted, while Charmy scooted up close for the story, trapping him. "Well uh … well it's a big country," Vector began. "Lotsa people. Not the same like lookin' fer pets in a city. If ya wanna find someone –" 

Charmy remembered the next part "– You've gotta THINK BIG!" he finished, leaping to the air and stretching his arms the way Vector used to. 

The croc nodded with a fake smile. "Yeah. Yeah, that's right. First thing we'll do is take yer picture – lotsa pictures, an put 'em on posters!" 

The boy knew the plan by heart but was excited as ever. "Yeah!" he crooned. "Oh! Don't ferget the milk cartons!" 

"Oh right – if ya got money, they'll put missin' kids on there! Every time someone goes fer milk, they'll see you an' dat button nose!" 

"Yeah!" 

"In fact, we'll put ya on billboards – the real big ones downtown with the fugly perfume ads? (Charmy confirmed with an icky _ewww!_) Well I'll hire someone ta rip em all down so we can get yer picture up there!" 

The boy's excitement was infectious – the bright caramel eyes helped him think up a new bit right on the spot. "An you know those _big, big_ blimps they fly over teh stadium at sports games? With the TVs in their sides? Well we're gonna hire one, drive it around an make um flash yer face so everyone in the city will see ya!" "YEAH!" 

Airplane sky-writing, tickertape parades, Network pop-up ads. The schemes went on and on each one more fantastic and wildly-delivered than the last, and Charmy grinned "Yeah …" to each one, until his eyes slowly nodded to rest, and he tried his hardest to keep awake. 

"An TV – we'll march right down ta the stations, flash 'em so much cash that they'll treat us like kings, and make em do a commercial with you! Everyone's gonna see …" 

He stopped. A tired little head had fallen against his scaly chest. Charmy was asleep; his breath whispered a final, daydreamy _yeah…_

So Content, at ease. Ever so delicately, ever so careful not to move, the crocodile reached a claw for the child and sat him down on the cushiony seat. A thousand lies and fibs were eating away at the crocodile's face. 

"Esp, we're good people … aren't we?" 

The atheist responded rather quickly for a man consumed in reading. "Indefatigable Spirit, V-Man," he grunted, oozing down into his chair and into himself. Just a few miles more and he'd rid himself of that self-doubting nuisance. Forever. 

And Vector reached into his backpack, sliding out the thin file folder Espio had printed at the library a long week ago. Opening the cover revealed application papers for a local Corvalis elementary school. He scanned the form as was his routine, pausing always at the final line – 

_Parent/Guardian signature: _

– and shutting the folder at that impossible hurdle. 

Where did one sign up as _Kidnapper?_

**

--------------------------

**


	10. II: The Secret In Serena

ï»¿

_Baby slow down  
The end is not as fun as the start  
Please stay a child somewhere in your heart _

_I'll give you everything you want  
Except the thing that you want _

_Everywhere you go you shout it  
You don't have to be shy about it, no  
Come on now - show your soul!  
You've been keeping your love under control_  
--Original of the Species. U2

o

o

The restaurant was a noisy little sinkhole, rowdy with laughter and hazy as memory. The hostess had eyed them over much the same as the hospital receptionist - with a weary frustration. "Got yourselves smashed up in a fight, eh boys?"

Both gatekeepers had sighed, but both had allowed the three young boys to enter. The sterile-white hospital and the scuzzy pub accepted all - even the vagrants who shuffled in beaten and bruised.

Two beastly, armor-plated reptiles and a mammal no less appealing. Each shuffled awkwardly, gangly teens with acne or peeling scales, two recently stretched and contorted on puberty's rack.

The meaty, human-sized crocodile feigned no smile: his wallet was feeling woefully thin for his duties as host. To ignore his shame, the teen played with the buttons of his cassette player, fast-forwarding and rewinding the tape feeding music over his earphones. Despite the rips and the torn shoulders, he had not thought to remove his frayed, blue button-up security shirt.

Across from the awkward giant, the tri-crest bone of chameleon skull lay on the table, arms hugging the pinkish mask like serpent's coils, while a threatening horn of cartilage served as a rattler's protruding tail. A single amber eye kept tabs on his unwanted company, stinging like poison.

Hunched in the middle was one not quite Mammal at first glance. A hard shell of plates layered over his head and down his back, hot and endurant as desert sands. With chin sprawled on his arms, only twin ears - pointy, yellow things - escaped the athlete's armor.

Together they looked like a joke of mismatched colours and build, a prompt for disbelieving stares. And yet a strange harmony vibrated and resonated through the three, a unity forged through heartbreak visible in their clouded smiles. That, and the fresh medical gauze.

A sigh lifted the armadillo from his thoughts. Skin leathery black, snout pointed to a tee, his steel-blue eyes glinted with a saddened disbelief. He read the gazette's front page once again, to confirm the unimaginable.

"For her decisive tactics and bravery in the face of danger, Lieutenant Topaz of G.U.N.'s Military Division will be awarded the Silver Cross. The President will personally deliver this honor to -" Here he had to avert his eyes, the newspaper lies were unbearable. "- to 'The Hero of Carnival Island'."

Anger broke through the crocodile's face and his fists hammered cracks through the table. A week's isolation behind hospital doors and the world self-destructed in their absence. The chameleon hissed behind his curled arms. "We should have kept those guns - could've given G.U.N. what they deserve!"

"Violence is never the answer," the pacifist armadillo repeated.

"Oh and you were plenty polite mowing down war mechs with a gattling laser, Furry."

The others exchanged uncomfortable glances at the little one's bigotry. "My name is Mighty," the armadillo growled, words firm as rock. "And those were machines. What you're implying - well, I can't even think about it without feeling ill! And from a child!" A pitiful height was not the only barrier isolating the runt of a chameleon, and the mention of age stung hard.

"Remind me why I'm wasting my time here?"

"Celebration!" the crocodile offered, filling in for the lost optimism. "Gadda be somethin', eh?"

"To our successful recoveries," Mighty offered, raising his glass though it hurt to stretch and tax his bandaged abdomen. He winced painfully and deferred the toast.

"Then to Vector," he called, and the crocodile smiled weakly. "For pulling us across the harbor."

"T'Mighty," came the accented return. "Fer watchin' my back."

"And to our sulking friend," the 'dillo gestured to the curled-up wad of chameleon, "who saved us all in the first place."

An arrogant snort was the one response. "Hey, if yer gonna cheer the immigrant, thank him for getting that kid to clamp up. Thought he'd never stop crying!"

"Well can you blame him?" Mighty was wounded with offense. "I'm sure we're all a little traumatized; I barely slept, I keep seeing those foul red eyes -"

The chameleon had lowered his pigments to a dark, metal blue; with his crested head, the resemblance was disturbing. Steel-blue eyes jumped open.

"Scared, Tinplate? Wimpin' out?"

The armadillo turned his back to the agitator and his eyes on the table. "That's not funny." The chameleon stopped only when the crocodile exposed his teeth in a warning hiss, and curled his arms tight like a winter scarf.

A long and inhospitable silence followed. Mighty stared into his drink, and the little lizard suppressed his snickering, knowing he was in the crocodile Vector's cross-hairs. When the armadillo resumed conversation, it was with his friendlier green companion.

"How is the boy?"

"Fine." The swiftness of the reply indicated this topic was off-limits. Mighty rubbed his chin and thought of something else. "I guess you're out of a job?"

The trauma Mighty had spoken of pulled at their snouts, and croc and armadillo could not help but laughing. A job seemed such a trifle to lose after so many had lost their lives.

"Well, ahm thinkin' this burg's too small," Vector shrugged. "Big cities - that's where it's at! I wanted ta go visit the gems: Station Square, maybe Corvalis."

Mighty nodded his approval. "The Capital is a beautiful place, I'm certain you'd enjoy it there."

"You been?"

"I'm a wanderer," Mighty said with a theatric shrug. "So long as there's a road to travel, so long as there are places to see; people to meet, I'll journey on."

"So you're a drifter?" The chameleon's acid eye lifted in smirk.

Mighty sighed; he wouldn't let himself be drawn in. "Maybe I should get going." The crocodile stood with him, but a supplicant palm held him back. "I'll be fine, Vector. I can still walk, and there's open road waiting."

"I gadda couch at my place - sure ya don't wanna stay?"

"I think it's time I moved on." A firm handshake, a pitying nod, and he was gone. Wanderer evermore.

The foreigner returned to fiddling with his cassette tape to ease his loss. Such a short time together, but their brotherhood had been a fierce connection. He'd hoped those lazy days swapping jokes from their hospital beds and pranking nurses would have lasted.

His boss, his co-workers were ... gone. All that remained was the little bundle cuddled up on his apartment cot, and this snarky little lone wolf across the table, who despite hostility and long silences in the shared recovery ward, had accepted their offer of drinks after discharge.

The chameleon finally moved, taking full advantage of Mighty's departure and nabbing the fountain straw from the armadillo's drink. Spreading his fingers on the table he jabbed the plastic pole in the spaces between, moving from one triangle to the next and back, going faster every time. Not once did he touch skin.

"That's pretty good fer just one eye," Vector admitted.

The young punk flashed a sneer; no less lovely thanks to the surgical gauze wrapped around his head like a slanted bandana, embalming his left eye, the red patch in the white cloth. "I don't _need_ to watch," he snorted, and keeping their eyes locked, he continued chipping between his fingers, no less intense than when he'd begun.

The croc nodded along. "Y'got talent there." The boy's name was Espio, and he could juggle up to seven objects, do card tricks and slight of hand. The kid presented them all to the crocodile, impressed with every feat.

"So what's next fer you?"

Espio didn't seem to mind talking about himself. "I'm gonna get a job - or something where I can get lots of money. I'm gonna get rich, an I'm gonna blow this town. It's holding me back; I hate it."

"Yeah, not teh best place you gat." An angry glare demanded explanation. "Docs let me out a day early, remember? Well, I figured yer folks'd be worried 'bout ya, so thought I'd find um. Tried all the 'Chameleons' in the phone book, couldn't find none, so I asked around." It was a touchy subject; Vector hadn't expected such a run-down shack of a home, or such an unconcerned father. "So, got a job in mind?"

The chameleon meditated on that in his melancholy state. "I dunno. Sign up for the reserves, I guess."

"_The Guardians?_" All patrons glanced at the outburst. "You wanna join up after ... after ... well, you saw what they did! How could ya?"

"What else am I supposed to do? Look, I quit school, okay? G.U.N. doesn't care how young, or how dumb you are - at least they'd get me out of here!"

"Well, what would you do..."

"You mean if I had a choice?"

"Yeah - where'd you be?"

Espio thought long and hard. " ... I dunno. Police?"

"Why'd ya pick that? Sort of a step-down, isn't it?"

"Maybe. But they get respect. Like, I'd be some sort of knight in armor, you know - keeping the peace, protecting the streets and all that."

"Yeah ..." Vector murmured enthusiastically. He was there, following the dream.

The pessimist grounded him with a shrug. "But anyway, you need an education for that, so I guess I'm with the Guardians."

"No you ain't."

"Pff. You got a better idea, croc?"

"Yeah. We're gonna do just what you said - we're gonna be those knights in shining armor, helpin' people!"

"Huh?"

"The system ain't workin' - look at it: is G.U.N. stoppin' teh Doctor? Did the police shoot down the Death Egg? No! It was all one guy. ONE GUY, who said _I'm tired of this. I'm gonna stand up and change things._ Esp, we can be that one guy!"

"Oh yeah? How?"

"Look around! Look at all these people, fussin' and worryin' over all their problems. We can help 'em. Look at the papers - it's nothing but bad news. Crime, crime, crime and nobody's solvin' 'em." The idea struck and solidified. "That's it! We'll be detectives!"

"HUH?"

"Private Investigators! All this stuff teh police is too busy to solve, or too stretched out ta handle - we'll fill teh gap! We'll fight fer the little guys!"

"Hmmrrr..." It was the first of many skeptical grumbles to come.

"Think about it - Esp, this is a goldmine - these people need a hero! We can be those heroes, and maybe we'll charge fer our services. Private Security, Personal Investigators. A Detective Agency!"

"Do you know anything about running a detective bureau?"

He shrugged and swigged his drink. "How hard could it be? We just do a bit of advertisin', question the clients and we're off! And if we gadda bust some heads along teh information trail, well, we just took down Teh Doc's finest. Who's gonna get in our way?" He stretched an open hand over the table. "Whaddya say? Partners?"

The chameleon made up for days of silence with his guffaws, slapping his knee at the gag. But it was no joke: when the jaded lizard wiped his good eye, the croc continued to stare him down, awaiting answer.

"You're serious?" He was. Every fibre of Vector's proud, upright body confirmed it, and before this dedication, this belief shining like holy light Espio stiffened with terror. _Madness!_ The idea was madness, but this reptile had something beneath the madness - a mighty confidence; an indefatigable spirit. This crocodile was perpetual motion incarnate, and he would never stop, never give up; never admit defeat.

Espio grabbed the offered hand like a lifeline and shook it fiercely. "I'm in. Partners!"

A sixteen-ton weight collapsed on his head.

**--------------------------**

Espio jolted awake and the travel map that had smacked his face dropped into his lap. He was in the cab of a delivery van, squashed between Vector and the ursine driver; the air conditioning was freezing him, and Charmy was filling the limited space with his irritated whining.

"I can't read it, Vecter! It's too hard!" The boy was stuck on Vector's lap and squirming to fly and move around. Espio had no empathy for the kid, crammed between two fat oafs.

He rotated a disinterested eye at his teammates, watching Vector retrieve his literature and encouraging Charmy to try again, sound out the words and to go slower. "I mean, c'mon - its just names on a map!"

The dream was still fresh in his mind, and Espio groaned, less in pity for the older 'dile's situation than his own. Lord, what a crock he'd fallen for! Seduced by a green fool with the foresight of a blind man and sheer stupidity reeking like body odor. The world owed Espio the Chameleon a whole lot more than a dopey green dinosaur and a life lived out of traveling bags!

He made an automatic security check - knapsack clutched between his legs? Good. The duct-tape seal had not been tampered with, and the photograph of Ellie Slater was still safe inside, tucked into the diary. Vector had not seen the picture given to him by Arella, and Espio had no intention of changing the status quo. He would not share this final privilege.

Charmy was giving the cartography lesson another chance, albeit a begrudging one. His eyes squinted over the national map and the green lump of land sectioned off into five equally amorphous strips.

"We started here -" He pointed to the southern peninsula and the capital city. "- drove here -" He traced a finger to the Big Glitz, then Westopolis. His finger fast-forwarded to the northernmost stretch. "An' now were here!"

Espio commandeered the kid's hand and dragged it south. "But first Vector booked the wrong train and sent us this way! Then we missed the bus because you needed a pee break, kiddo ..."

"Fat lotta help you were, Horntop, stickin' yer snout in them comic books!"

The chameleon ignored the peasant's revisionist history, focusing on the map and the stretch of mountains barricading the northern border from shore to shore. When last his eyes had been open, they'd driven through dry, bumpy grassland towards a horizon no more impressive than the tiny drawings of the chart. Now the journey was uphill and mountains blotted out the sky: solid, impenetrable icecaps. These were the Blue Mountains, hidden lair of G.U.N.'s mutinous Enforcer, Ellie Slater and the long road's end.

MagniTrains and tour busses could take them only as far as Fort Isis, the historic trading outpost stationed outside the mountains, today little more than a post office connecting Serena and the outside world. No one but locals traveled further into the Blue Mountains, and Espio had received many the odd look and asking about transport into the Great Barrier.

"We've just had the first spring thaw; the roads past are all mush," snorted a local fox. "Only priority shipping goes up these days; you're awful early for vacationing."

"Out of seasoners!" one old crone had labeled them. "You beach bums think you can go anywhere, anytime; no respect for the planet! Just like that tart of a girl who hiked through! _Hiking!_" she snorted.

Several other tavern folk said they might have seen an albino mouse pass northward, not that they cared enough to remember. It was confirmation enough for Vector, who charmed and chatted up enough truckers to shmooze a ride for three with a hoverbus delivering an emergency order.

"Don't see why y'all so eager t'visit," the hulking bear grunted. "Just a buncha old timeys and deserters up there." Years ago, it seemed Serena had been a popular haven for draft dodgers. "They keep to themselves; only really come out after harvest t'sell their crops or some homey artwork or quilts. Buncha mole people, if y'ask me."

Espio had not asked, and preferred memorizing the terrain of this final stakeout to feigning interest in stupid conversation.

His eyes panned like cameras over the birds-eye view of the green, canoe-like basin smoothed between two mountain ranges. Valley C4 on the charts, though he'd heard the name Peasant's Valley back in Fort Isis.

A perfect enclosure on both flanks, it looked pitifully barren. The map indicated a single road running through the valley; outsiders entered with the water source, a glacial waterfall tumbling down the canoe's aft. The village of Serena was located at the opposite end, a big dot underneath a mountain named Fang.

Between the endpoints ran a river birthed from the waterfall and sinking into a lake outside the town. Meadows and then farmland were housed on one bank while the far side was abandoned to forest. The single road followed the river into town; otherwise, the only sign of civilization was an uppercase letter H stamped into the forest at the mouth of the lake, in a circle walled off by water, mountain and now woodland.

The map - and the folk of Fort Isis - gave no further clues to the identity of landmark H, nor the red eye imprinted like a banner underneath.

"Hey mammal, shut off that freezin' air conditioning," Espio sneered. For a species that could control their body temperature, the bear with the blonde dye-job was doing an awful lot of panting as he navigated the jagged turns.

"Chill, kiddo," he smirked, chuckling at his accidental pun and the fuming hiss from the rebuked 'youngster'. The bear didn't change his mind until the older Vector growled about the cold. Espio ground his teeth and straightened his back to look tall.

The path into the mountain wall was a natural gap (split by lightning, Vector imagined); a jagged crack hacked through the azure stone that became a tight, skyless canyon to the delivery truck. High above the treeline, they moved through a road of twisted rock and slushy gravel. Repulsorlifts conquered all terrain, but the ride still bumped and juked precariously over the twisted terrain.

It was plain to see why Serena was so ill-traveled in spring; Vector found himself wondering what sort of tough, nasty people lived within the rock walls, and what welcoming they might present to free-loading "out of seasoners"...

A sharp turn brought them to a precipice above the mountain waterfall. At this edge was constructed an unmanned cable car, a cage of logs lashed together at a size capable of carrying two of their delivery vans. Cloud cover obscured the wilderness below.

They Chaotix piled out, gasping at the sudden cold and their visible breath, and helped the driver clamp his truck into the primitive escalator. The mountain air was enough to freeze water, and rain fluttered from the sky in white flakes that settled into mounds you could scoop and mold like wet clay! "People _live here_?" Espio snorted, while Vector inched a claw towards a "s-now drift" as if it were a corpse. His fingers jumped at the frozen touch.

Core temperatures dropping leathaly low, they were all too happy to let the bear operate the lift's control stand and begin the diagonal descent into the Peasant's Valley.

Espio took his partner aside. "So remember - low profile."

The croc was indignant. "I ain't fergettin'! I grew up in a small town; I know how fast gossip moves!"

"Ellie will bail if she figures out what we're here for," Espio reminded, avoiding mention of her more lethal options of retaliation. "We find her; we grab a picture and then we still need time to call in G.U.N. We can't tip her off."

"I know already!" Then he whispered, "Hey, smart plan, by teh way - splittin' up an' doin' separate searches. We'll catch 'er faster, right?"

Espio had been caught in fantasy. "Huh? Oh yeah, yeah, sure. You go into town, talk to people - you're good at that stuff. Me, I'll keep low, snoop around - see what these hermits are hiding behind closed doors."

"We'll hit 'er with a double-header! Not bad!" Vector grinned.

"We'll meet every night and report on what we find," Espio concluded. "May the best man win," he added slyly.

Cloud haze solidified and colourfied into a swallowing thicket of coniferous trees. The cable car landed roughly into the forest base, at a worn gravel road. Vector thanked Bark the driver and said they'd finish up on foot, "Teh enjoy teh scenery," he half-lied, knowing he'd get a better scan of the valley and its possible hiding places by walking.

The truck hovered down the gravel road; Espio gave him a cocky farewell salute and dived into the bushes, morphing pine green for his role as the invisible hand. Charmy the Afterthought was plugged into Vector's knapsack and given the important job of being quiet.

Vector tightened his straps, zipped up his leather jacket, and prayed for some of that Dragon Patience to endure the cold. Still flinching from the recollection of frozen water gliders, he put on some walking music and took a bold step out of the trees.

He touched a palm to his heart to make sure the ol' ticker hadn't stopped from the cold. _Ba-bump._ The land had passed his first requirement: it hadn't reduced him to an icicle. In fact, his scales felt warm with sunlight. His nostrils twitched: sweet water, and flowers - there were so many fresh scents here it made him sneeze! The sky was clear and blue and every which way he looked, gentle mountains at the horizon sheltered a hidden valley so plentiful in green it made his eyes water.

_Wowee! Hard, crunchy outside, gooey chocolate goodness on teh inside!_ Was this Paradise?

A little dizzy now, it was still easy enough to gather his bearings - the river was nearby, with coniferous pine gathered at its far bank and the dirt road into town on Vector's half. Consulting his map, the path lead directly into Serena, at the foot of Mount Fang.

_Weird_, the other mountains were listed only with numbers. Raising his head to the valley's end, Fang was easy to spot - it literally pulled at his eyes. Rising above the commoners like a sinister black tower, Mount Fang demanded attention.

The lesser mountains at its sides grew and fell with symmetry, but the char black lord Fang stared into the valley with a sleek and hooked drop, as though lightning and tempest had cleaved the black spike into the prow of a mighty warship, smashed through the living rock guarding Peasant's Valley and wedged among the gentler gray rises like a dark invader: powerful, but also precarious - it leaned into the valley, casting shadow like a sundial; threatening to fall over bury the sheltered valley.

Pelting rain had sharpened the pinnacle into a knife's edge, or a tower's spire; either image captured the biting sharpness of the black rock christened Fang.

The little village of Serena gathered at the monster's feet, just outside forest. Vector tread on, enjoying the fresh air and peace, but ever lifting a cautious eye towards the dark lord of the valley, perhaps to ensure the scythe-peak had not fallen.

Plodding through meadows and past orchards, where mammals working the fields would stop and nod hello to the traveler. The river at his side swelled into lake, and in the forest beyond he thought he saw some sort of man-made spike - a tower or a turret - protruding from the forest canopy. He couldn't be sure - Serena quickly occupied his vision.

_Burrow mounds._ At the farthest end of the pea-pod valley, filling up the deepest basin of the land, the mountain village of Serena had been fashioned in harmony with the land. Instead of bricks and girders, the people had built their homes into the valley itself.

Clusters of green hills gathered like a grassy beach of turtles shells, each one a hollowed-out dwelling with a log-cabin face of wood-beam-walls and timber porches extending to greet the world. Porthole windows and flower baskets studded the natural wonders, connected by lazing gravel roads and ravines of wild blossoms.

A horseshoe ring of mighty trees embraced the village and provided nests to the avian population. Vector quickly recognized the Las Adrianna floats, reproduced in the simplest wood and hugging the tree trunks like funnel-shaped fruit pods, complete with tiers of mushrooming platforms and trails of hanging bridges. Smaller vine cars parked under the eaves ensured an integration of land and tree dwellers.

Mammal children paused their games to give him wondrous looks and adults stopped their business long enough to offer their welcomes. Girls whispered and giggled madly wherever he passed. There were no humans.

It was love at first sight. What most impressed Vector was the simplicity - there were no billboards or road signs obstructing the sky, and the houses seemed purposely low, as if to defer respect to the sheltering mountains. Flowers were sown in gullies lining the streets but there were no street lamps or power lines. Any house with a second story (or posh third) dug its layers further underground, revealing only grassy rooftops and grotto stairways, keeping all equal.

The unity of the village did leave him feeling lost - the general store; the inns were unmarked; it was assumed the villagers knew well enough who their neighbours were and where to seek services. The townsfolk were cordial enough to assist, but even the best directions left Vector lost and too intimidated to begin rapping on random doors.

Wandering in circles, he exited the ring of trees and sat himself on a little knoll at the edge of town, shading himself underneath a single, spindly elm to clear his head and appreciate the village. _It's beautiful,_ he thought, settling back and basking in the moment.

"I'm sure you're quite comfortable as you are," said a small, breathless whisper. "But you will have to keep moving."

Vector startled and turned to the voice, a frail looking rabbit femme with lopped ears; wrapped elbows to ankles in a conservative peasant's skirt and apron, she carried a gardening hoe as a hiking stick. "If you don't mind," she added kindly.

"Huh? Oh, sorry miss." The gentle smile on her face seemed to bind him like a spell. Her face was careworn and her hazel eyes heavy, but when she smiled and upturned every corner of her face, youth beamed like the fresh valley.

Vector scooted to his feet and let her rake the spot he'd occupied, pulling up winter's dead, yellow grass and allowing the green life to breathe. "So uh, you mow all the fields here?" he asked, a little awkward at this random gardening of wilderness.

Another youthful smile. "Oh I'm afraid not, just my home."

Vector puzzled. "Yer home? Like, right here?" He gestured to the mound and tree well outside the village.

"Oh yes," smiled the eternal sunshine. "I'm afraid I've caught you napping on my roof."

True enough, Vector looked over the opposite face of the hill and facefaulted over the front door and porch leading into the solitary burrow. _Why's she livin' out here alone_, he wondered, but his wondering was squashed by embarrassment and he coughed uncomfortably. "Err, sorry 'bout that."

"Oh no, it's quite all right," the rabbit beamed back. "I do let the children run around, and I won't make an exception on your account. It's no bother at all." She quickly cut herself off. "Oh but forgive my manners; we haven't been introduced: My name is Vanilla." She dropped her garden rake gave a charming little curtsy.

"Vector teh Crocodile," he returned.

She smiled and accepted his handshake. "It's such a pleasure to see a new face this early in the season. I do hope you'll find your stay refreshing."

"Sure been great so far," he grinned, enjoying the company of her smile.

Miss Vanilla blushed modestly as he praised the peaceful valley and she smiled sympathetically when he described the creepy feel from looking over Mt. Fang. "I suppose it can be rather sinister," she nodded. "But my - you must be exhausted after your long walk into town. Why don't you come in; I'll get you some water."

Her automatic courtesies astounded him. "Awful sweet o' ya, but I gadda find a place ta stay before night."

Again her eyes rose with a self-inflicted shock. "Oh how thoughtless I've been! Would you excuse me a moment?" Miss Vanilla picked up her skirts and swished into her burrow, returning quickly with a signpost. "I hope you'll forgive me - I always take this old thing down for the winter months."

VANILLA'S BED & BREAKFAST  
_Vacancy_  
All Welcome!

The Serena basin was a valley unto the valley, and the strategic location of this outcast burrow on the depression's rim, this 'moutain hut', so to speak, appealed immediately to Vector. _Yeah ... Nice quiet place - outside 'a town, low key._ Of course, he'd take a room case or no case - this kindly little lady had charmed him from the get-go. "Well ... s'long as ya don't mind me stayin' a couple breakfasts," he warned.

Miss Vanilla beamed that most hospitable smile. "It would be no trouble at all, Mr. Vector. I'd be happy to have you. Will you be needing any luggage moved?"

He smiled at the thought of this petite woman dragging heavy suitcases across town. "That's all right - just me an' what I've got."

"An' me!" Charmy declared, springing out of his hiding place. He'd had his fill of peaking through the zipper and eavesdropping - the lady Vecter was talking to sounded super nice and he wanted to see her for himself.

"Oh my," she whispered, raising startled ears.

"Charmy! I told ya ta stay put!"

"Aww, but Vecter!" The boy was extra feisty today, but Vector was equally fueled by anger and nabbed him quickly. _Blast it_, he'd just made a clean introduced to the kindest, gentlest soul on the planet and now Miss Vanilla was staring at him with delicate surprise, obviously imagining a hundred evil explanations for why he was toting around a little boy -

"Well now, this must be your son."

Far away, at the waterfall and the edge of the valley, even Espio picked up on Vector's outrageous response.

"HE'S MY _WHAT?_"

Back at the burrow, Charmy was equally flabbergasted. "Bu - but, but I'm too little to be Vecter's daddy!"

Miss Vanilla's surrendered to her inner child and squealed. "And he's so sweet! Charmy, is it? Well it's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Charmy Bee." The boy's distress was immediately forgotten at the prospect of being addressed 'Mister'.

"Well now that we're all introduced, I'll show you to your room." Miss Vanilla glided down the dome of her house in an effortless grace, Vector followed in a sort of speechless daze but Charmy, buzzing with a thousand curiosities left to explore.

"My, you've certainly arrived at an opportune time, Mr. Vector. This coming week we'll be celebrating our spring festival; this year will be a costume ball. Mr. Vector?"

The crocodile had struggled to keep a coherent walk, weaving from leg to leg as though off-balanced by an enormous load on his back. His eyes were black specks in white saucers until Miss Vanilla roused him. "Huh, huh? Sorry, much Father to walk?"

Her smiles seemed to weather any kind of oddity. "It's all right. How long are you allowing Charmy to stay out? I'll plan supper accordingly."

"How long? Gee, I dunno. I just kinda let'm loose all the time - he comes back when he's hungry anyway." He cringed immediately; that didn't sound all too responsible.

His new hostess nodded without judgement. "He's certainly a handsome little boy. How long have you had him?"

"A while." End of discussion.

"Hmm. I'll put you together in the same room, of course. Perhaps I could ask you to help me move the guest bed?"

He jumped to life at this opportunity. "Hey, my pleasure, - nothin' I like better than helpin' out!"

**ooooooooo**

Charmy shot up and out of the town like a whooping bottle rocket, blasting off until Serena was just a buncha green bumps and he could see the Peasant's Valley from bow to stern.

Mountains were so much cooler than the city! They were ... He struggled to describe, he was seeing things for the first time. Flying here was ... was like flying to the very top of a skyscraper (yeah!) an' looking up an' down the traffic at its foot. You could see all the way ahead and behind, but all the buildings stopped you from looking at your sides. Only here it was like standing at the intersection of a bazillion roads going in every direction until he could look around in a perfect circle!

Rotating on the spot and staring into the unhindered infinite, he couldn't help but whisper a hushed "Wow ..."

He dived down for a closer look.

Charmy loved to fly. His legs couldn't run very fast and his arms couldn't reach very far, but when he let his wings tremble into takeoff he could go wherever he wanted. Dive, tumble; somersault: he could do cool ninja tricks just like Espio! And when he hovered, he could be just as tall an' brave as Vector, lookin' down on stuff from way up high.

He wondered if he could find Espio from up here? _Oh boy would he be mad!_ Giggling with mischief, Charmy scanned around, getting a big shock when he glanced to nine o'clock.

A bird was flying right next to him! Black and like a Flicky bird (only _Me-sized,_ he thought) the stranger was looking right back at him through a tinted ski visor. The twist in its beak looked a whole lot like an Espio smile. An _I'm Better Than You_ Smile.

The blackbird's wings kept at standstill; besides the occasional adjustment flap it kept effortlessly side-by-side while he vibrated his wings with craze. The bird's smirk grew, noting the work he required; Charmy didn't need to live with detectives to know he was bein' made fun of. He clenched his teeth and pulled ahead.

The blackbird gave a lazy flap of its wings and evened the gap. Then it pumped ahead, turning back its head with that jeering smirk!

Hissing like a little Espio, Charmy snapped on his goggles. This meant war.

Charmy dived headfirst like a swimmer to show who was boss; the bird tucked in its wings and joined the vertical plunge, both screaming in freefall for the lake. Neither was flying; they were dropping like missiles, daring the other to chicken out as they plunged closer and closer to the water's surface, falling until they could see the ripples waiting to wet them.

The bird was fast but it turned like an elephant - not so good. Wings snapped like parachutes and dragged the avian skyward. Charmy kept going until he could see the fish underwater, then spun a perfect ninety degrees, pulling out with his shoelaces skimming the water.

"Yeah!" Charmy whooped victory ... until a shadow fell over the water and shrieking talons shoved the honeybee downwards. Charmy hit the water like a rock: skipping and juking across the surface once, twice, three times and pulling out.

It wasn't over yet. They took the dogfight into the forest, darting between tree pillars and corkscrewing 'round each other for the lead. Charmy's pumped his arms into a superhero pose, punching above his head and at his chest; he squeezed his eyes and clenched his jaw, pouring his energy into beating his wings until the violin warble became a tea kettle's screech.

The bird was losing! Here in the forest it had to flap continually for lift; its beak was panting and Charmy was taking lead!

Until the bird made a most unexpected motion, tucking in one wing and raising the other high to roll sideways and ram Charmy into a tree.

"Waaaah!" Charmy ricocheted off bark with enough momentum to keep him skipping across the muddy forest floor. _Ow! Ow! Oof! BuddabuddabuddaCRUNCH!_

The bird circled over his crash site like a vulture and landed with a dainty little flap, clamping the wiry talons of its backwards-bending legs into a severed tree stump. Smug and cocky was a natural pose, with its wings tucked at its sides like intellectually-folded arms and a puffed up chest of white plume. Grass-stained feathers and scraped knees marked the adventurous scamp and the feathery curls around its neck flared like dozens of messy little pigtails. The first words out of her mouth were a crowing, "I beat you!"

_Ow, ow ow!_ Charmy was too busy rubbing the cuts on his knees to listen. His back and wings were to the avian and the sight drew a hushed breath.

"They're like diamonds!" Her nails clip-clopped across the ground to take a better look at the insect wings, going so bold as to poke and sniff her beak through Charmy's crystalline membrane. She jerked back with a snort. "No way!" gaped the pouty, bossy voice. "Y'can't fly with these dumb things - they're like paper!"

The pain had subsided enough for Charmy to scramble away. "Leggo o' me, you cheater! You pushed me!"

She shot a defiant raspberry. "Yeah, well I still won, so there. _Pthttp!_"

His cheeks were welling up angry. Charmy rushed at the bully, who hopped back from his Espio-karate-chop and fluttered to her stump while Charmy slipped into the mud. "Missed me, missed me!" she teased.

That was the last straw! Charmy was gonna go back an' tell Vecter on her, an' he'd come an eat he ...

The word to describe Charmy's precise mental functioning was _brain freeze. _

_Her mouth.  
Her nails.  
Her beak._

"You're a _girl!_"

"Yeah, well you're weird," she fired back. Standing tall she snap-spread her wings and tail feathers. "I'm Avery the Magpie," she declared. "An I'm the bestest flyer in tha' world!"

Charmy buzzed his wings to meet her eye. "Huh! Well I'm Charmy Bee, and no you're not!"

She cocked her head. "Charlie Bee?"

"Charmy!"

"Charmy Pee?"

"BEE!" He screamed back. His red, angry face left Avery giggling and snorting.

"You're _funny!_" she smiled. "Bet I can beat ya again, Birdseed!"

"Can not!" Charmy countered.

"Yeah, well lastonetothelake'sarottenegg! Go!" With no fair warning, Avery jumped into flight, flapping low so her backwards legs could shove the honeybee to the ground once again.

Charmy was in hot pursuit.

**--------------------------**

The day was late and the clouded sky cooling like embers when Charmy returned to the burrow. Ms. Vanilla had arranged her patio table outside, atop her house in the shade of the tree; Vector had been eyeing the food impatiently. "Where ya been, kiddo? Been waitin' forever! ... An how'd you get so messy!"

Grass stains on his knees, scrapes on his elbows and brambles caught all over his vest - the only clean part of Charmy Bee were his eyes and forehead, miraculously white under his helmet and goggles. "I was doin' stuff."

Ms. Vanilla paced up the hill with the final serving bowl. "Oh my, you certainly had quite the adventure," she smiled.

Dinner for Vector was a challenge to say the least. While Miss Vanilla bowed her head to say grace, Charmy was reaching for the plates, dipping his fingers in the stew for a taste test. It was the first of many faux-pauses.

Once all properly served, the kid scarfed down his meal like a vacuum, face-first into the bowl! Vector, ever conscious they dined with a Lady, nudged the boy's spoon closer. The runny-soup face considered the utensil, but shook his head to decline. "This way's faster," Charmy countered.

Miss Vanilla, to his horror, didn't bat an eye at the slob. _Boys will be boys_, her smile seemed to flash. The rabbit woman had the patience and acceptance of Saint, and Vector felt scalded and mortified to be caught in her presence with the kid.

The worst came when she started polite conversation with the honeybee. _How old are you, Charmy?_ (Six, he answered, raising five fingers for visual). _Where do you go to school?_ (Skool? He repeated hesitantly.) _Oh, you must be home tutored, then._ (The boy puckered a confused frown, cocking his head at Vector as if to say _What, with that bozo_?)

She moved topics, lamenting that they'd come so early in the season. Serena offered a wide opportunity to enjoy the wilderness, but "I'm afraid most of our hiking trails and bicycle paths will be flooded out from the spring thaw right now."

Charmy shrugged it off. "Vecter's gonna be busy with his investigatin', anyway," he said matter-of-factly.

"Investigating?" Miss Vanilla's ears perked; Vector gagged and rushed to damage control.

"Investi - Investigative Journalism! Yeah, heh, heh!" He made the pat on Charmy's head a very rough one. "Ahm a writer fer the ... the uh, Daily Spooner!" _Better roll with it._ "Boss sent me up ta write an article fer the Travel section 'bout Serena."

"Really! How exciting, having a job that allows you to travel!" She was outwardly sunshine, but Vector picked up on the careful analysis brewing in her eyes. Did she suspect? Did she know Ellie Slater?

"Hey Missez Vanilla, when I wus flying I saw a castle in tha woods behind the lake. What's that?"

So unwitting, so unknowing; so perfect a distraction. Their hostess shifted to address Charmy. "Ah, so you've found Castle Hangue, have you?" She smiled, looking out to the lake and the man-made tower Vector had noted earlier.

"That castle was built a long, long time ago, when my ancestors were first brought to the valley as servants under the Hangue family. The Lord at the time was a neurotic man. ... That is, he was very worried about losing his money and his land," she paraphrased noticing Charmy's clueless look.

"So the Lord built himself a new, stronger castle right here in this very valley, where the mountains would protect him from the world. He took everything he owned - his treasures, his livestock; even the peasants under his rule were made to leave their homes and build the village and farms of Serena. And the Lord Hangue was content, believing himself safe, locked away and ruling his lands within the safety of the mountains."

So what happened?" Charmy asked. Vector was also leaning in, curious.

Ms. Vanilla smiled like a schoolgirl. "His subjects grew restless of his law and overthrew the cowardly Lord. My forefathers stormed the Castle Hangue, tossed the royal family from the topmost spires and burned the castle down to rock and rubble."

She concluded the ancestry of bloodshed and revolution with a wistful smile. "You've no doubt noticed that every house in the village keeps two stone blocks aside their doorstep? Those are bricks lifted from the castle ruins. It's our way of expressing that we are now all Lords and Ladies of our land and future, and that no one shall ever hold power or mastery over another."

Vector was impressed. "Now ain't that a neat idea! But who lives there now?"

"Oh, the castle is abandoned. Although I suppose we will open up the explored sections for the summer tourism."

"Explored sections?"

"The Lord Hangue was incredibly paranoid - his stronghold was built like a labyrinth. The castle is honeycombed with secret rooms, hidden passages. In my mother's day we used to hide Outsiders who came fleeing war and the military draft down in the underground tunnels." She paused, adding, "Of course, no one's ever made a complete diagram of the ruins. They're far too vast and dangerous. Rigged with traps, even."

Vector chewed very thoughtfully now. "Secret tunnels eh? An' no one's goin' up there now?"

"We prefer to leave the castle - and the past - as they are." Charmy raised his head with a question. "Is, is it a haunted castle?" Miss Vanilla smiled coyly. "No one knows for sure, but the village has collected quite the number of stories over the generations. Everyone is certainly eager to repeat them ever since the Moon was scarred."

Over the table, she whispered, "Those who go out at night say they've seen phantoms - but not just around the castle anymore. Wraiths gliding through the valley as they please ... Thunder on cloudless nights and fire bursting in the darkness..."

**ooooooooo**

The burrow indoors was domed floor to ceiling in wood panels; nothing dingy or earthy, it was quite a cozy sort of cottage with plenty of ferns and books hanging about to comfort those trapped indoors. Guests were greeted with a kitchen and breakfast nook, with the bedrooms down a corridor in the rear.

"This room used to be my daughter's," Miss Vanilla apologized. The room was rather offensively pink, with hearts and carrots and ducks carved into the cedar of the wardrobe, writing table and cushiony, four-post child's bed. The room was slightly tight with the additional cot to accommodate Vector, but the crocodile insisted they would be just fine.

"By teh way, love teh paintin' out in teh hallway. You make that?" he asked, pointing to the very harsh, dark mural of a smoldering doomsday sky and thousands of burning embers streaking to the ground like meteors.

"My mother, actually. A sort of dowry for when I left home with my ... my child's father." It was the first time she'd faltered and lost her smile.

"Mother told me it was appropriate for the occasion," she whispered. "The Fall of the Four Primaries." Looking deep into the painting, the largest of the diving embers resolved into shrieking corpses: wings, tails and limbs flailing in their unholy immolation.

"Vecter, what's a Prime-Ribery?"

Miss Vanilla turned, ears stiff. Vector quickly nabbed the kid and clamped his mouth shut.

"Ah-heheh. Kids say tehe darnest things, don't they. Well, better pack it in! G'night Miss!"

Once the door was shut he wasted no time chewing out the kid. "Y'know, you embarrassed me here t'day."

"What, whaddid I do?"

"How 'bout that little crack out there? Or you eatin' like y'ain't got any hands! Where'd ya learn ta stuff yerself like that?"

"But Vecter, we always eat like that."

_Point to Charmy._ "Well not in front of a nice lady, y'don't!"

"Well nobody told me that!"

"_Clamp it!_ An' how 'bout you messin' up my cover back there? An' don't give me any o' that _she's nice - we can trust her!_ She don't know about teh Red Queen; what if those two started talkin'? Hmm?" He paced a moment, adding, "An' how d'ya not know about teh Four Primaries? Yer supposed ta learn that stuff when yer little!"

Charmy's antennae drooped, face averted into his chest. "I'm sorry Vecter; I didn't know - really! I didn't wanna do anything wrong!" His apologies edged onto tears, and Vector realized how harshly he had bellowed.

"Hey, whoa! Chin up, kiddo!" He lifted the honeybee's chin so their eyes met, apologetic and tear-glazed. "Look, you didn't do nothin' wrong, an' I shouldn'ta yelled. It ain't yer fault you maybe did some weird stuff," _It was mine_, he thought silently.

He'd been monitored by bright child eyes for three years now, and everything Charmy saw at the office, he'd learned to repeat. No one had taught the kid any better.

"So, we okay, kid?"

Charmy snorted back his tears and wiped his eyes. "Yeah, we okay. But what's a Primarianery, Vecter?"

"A Primary," he corrected, "an I'll tell ya laiter."

Charmy took the little girl's bed that night, camouflaged among the mounds of plush toys while Vector stared into the rosy hardwood ceiling. A giggle interrupted his thoughts. "What?" he asked into the darkness.

"I was just thinkin'," Charmy whispered back, "About that really funny face you made, when Missez Vanilla thought you were my daddy." He giggled again. "Wasn' that funny?"

Vector made a long exhale. "Go ta sleep. We gadda monster ta find t'morrow."

Despite the space between them, Vector was gripped by the heart. _What's gonna happen t'him? What's he gonna do when he grows up?_

He turned to the bedroom window for solace, staring into Serena and its peaceful slumber. A few oil lamps down in the village marked the night owls enjoying a twilight moment of peace, perhaps reading a book or cuddling with a loved one. How simple things were here, how peaceful.

Spoiling perfection, Mount Fang swallowed the starlight with its dagger-peak threat. Alien fireflies danced over the village and among them, a dark beacon pulsed with a wicked, purple flame.

**ooooooooo**

Curled in a sleeping pad under the miserable shelter of a tree, Espio glared into Serena with dismissive eyes. Queens didn't live among the commoners; he knew in which roost he would find his Ellie.

What would come next, he had trouble deciding.

A monster was in paradise. A dark menace hovered above the peaceful village, and from the black heart of Mount Fang clapped beats of purple witchglow, like a dark heart thumping to life for the first time.

**--------------------------**


	11. Twilight Sanctuary

Vector slept fitfully all the night, lost in a maze of colourful circus rubble and blackened skies. The Eyes pursued him through the darkness with the rhythmic tap of light sprinting.

_Tack, tack, tack, tack …_

Metal footsoles clinking with the ground. The steel limbs raced like the pulse across his chest. _Tack, tack, tack, tack …_

Closer now. Accelerating. _Tackatackatackatacka_

The creeping fear gripped his heart, but Vector was no coward – he spun, primed like a boxer to take down whatever came while blood rushed _tackatackatackatacka_ through his ears.

The red dagger-eyes lunged; the skeletal claws clamped 'round his neck. No matter how he spun, how certain his senses - the assassin mech always caught him from behind.

--------------------------

Vector jumped from the dream, surfacing into Miss Vanilla's guestroom.

_The nightmare. Just the Nightmare, nothing more._

Yet his ears still registered the rhythmic _tack, tack, tack. _

_The window._

Springing from bed, Vector yanked the porthole inward and his snout out.

"Psst! Look up, V-Man!"

The domed roof above Vector's window had grown lumpy over night - as though a gravedigger had packed a spread-eagle body into the wall and seeded it with grass. Behind a scowl, Vector had to admit the pigments matched a perfect spring green, but a careful observer would still notice gloves, boots, a horn and open eyes and connect the dots into the scaley green spider clinging upside-down to the burrow wall.

"You liddle creeper! Get in before somebody sees ya!" Vector stomped aside and let his partner scuttle indoors. "Real cutesy," Espio jabbed, eyeing the pinko girl's room.

"We ain't supposed ta meet till it's dark! Whaddya doin' here?"

Espio fidgeted with his wristlets, like he was ashamed. "Well ... I changed my mind, okay?" The chameleon would not meet his eyes, and busied with examining the family photographs on the dresser. _How long wus he sittin' outside that window last night?_

Esp grunted quickly. "Besides, I figured you'd have screwed something up already."

Vector had a finger raised and jaws wide but a sound at the door interrupted his retort. The Reptiles swivelled to the entrance, to the shadow of footsteps seeping through the trim and the turn of an unbarred knob.

In a crack, Espio was a lump skirted under the bed sheets; Vector did his best to squash it down. The door fell open and two doughy blobs (standing on one another's shoulders) tumbled like a beanstalk into the room. One plopped straight on its face; the other wailed and dangled off the doorknob a panicked moment before bumping its bottom.

The impish cries stirred Charmy from sleep, and the Honeybee rubbed his groggy eyes, then gasped, wide awake. "Oh _awesome!_ Chao!"

Two sweet chao were the spies - onion-headed cuties with wide eyes and large, clumsy paws. The first to fall was a neutral baby blue; its partner had darkened to an ugly, mottled brown. Charmy was up and playing with them in a flash. Espio uncovered his head to look and Vector breathed easy.

More footsteps clopped down the hallway. Before Miss Vanilla could interrupt, a pillow was in Vector's hands and smothering Espio's head. "Mornin'!" he shouted over Espio's protests, stretching his grin till his gums hurt.

The rabbit landlady raised a delicate paw to her small lips. "Oh dear!" she fretted, and flew in with single mind to collect the offending chao. "I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Vector, Mr. Charmy." The bed sheets were giving muffled screams, but she overlooked that detail in her anxiety. "Cheese, Chocola, you leave our poor guests alone!"

The babes wriggled in her arms, but she held the chao with mother's experience and blushed an embarrassed smile. "I apologize. I'm afraid these boys aren't used to having my daughter away for so long. They must have heard you and come to say hello."

Vector grinned and nodded absently, swinging his legs to account for the random, rocking-chair creaking of the bed. His elbow hammered down on the pillow and he covered up by propping head on his fist.

"Well, since the two of you are up, I hope you don't mind if I'll go ahead and start breakfast? You'll have quite the day prepared for you."

"Beg yer pardon?" The bed twitched less feverishly now, dying reflexes.

Vanilla surprised herself once again. "Dear me, that's right - I never told you. Well, I've arranged for you to take a guided tour of the town. For your newspaper article, of course."

"Huh? Oh right, right teh _Spooner_. Yeah." So this was what she'd been scheming over last night's dinner!

"Well then, please come right ahead when you're ready to eat." Miss Vanilla curtsied and left with her chao.

She moved all too agonizingly slow. Vector shut the door and whisked off the covers. Espio surfaced and coughed out his lungs. "You are dead!"

Charmy widened with excitement. "Are you gonna use a Ninja voodoo Touch of Death on 'um, Espio?" A very sad, cynical look-over was his response.

"Yeah, sure kid. The _Touch of Death_ - just like my ancient ninja master taught me." Charmy edged in close, waiting intently but Vector wasn't even worth a retaliatory bop this morning. "So, you're a news reporter," the chameleon sniffed, sauntering the room once more.

"Kid's idea," Vector explained, getting up. "But it's gonna be our ticket inta every house 'n burrow here in Serena! An 'o course," he added slyly, "Can't have a newspaper story without _pictures_." He scooped the still-shot camera from his bag and gave a test snap. Charmy went giddy at all the sneakrecy!

"Waste your time if you want," placid Espio shrugged, rapping knuckles on the wardrobe's varnished frame. "I already know where she's hiding."

"Castle Hangue, eh?" The chameleon rotated an eye; Vector explained. "Landlady told me 'bout it last night. Says its haunted."

"Peasants, what do they know." Espio snorted. The rabbit lady seemed downright slow in his mind. No way a normal person could be so fluffy and polite all the time.

Vector had shouldered his knapsack and was helping Charmy to pull up a stuck zipper. "Well, we're gonna snoop around town t'day. If you find anythin', you come right back here!"

"Once I find her ..." but Espio did not finish.

Fully dressed, Charmy exploded down the hall to the smell of food. Vector stole a glance back at Espio - the chameleon was giving a very critical study to the cornerside wardrobe.

"Whaddya you plannin', Sneak?"

"Nothing!" Espio blurted, and Vector shrugged, wondering why the chameleon's colours were so high-strung, or why he treated the joking question like an accusation.

**--------------------------**

Charmy's whole face bobbed up and down as he mashed his food. "Pass the syrup!" he chirped, and lathered his cereal with the sticky stuff the way a normal person added milk. The chao gummed down their homemade mush, sitting on the table direct, and even Vector had difficulty restraining his inner wolf, the food was that good! Miss Vanilla relayed him another stack of pancakes. "Can I offer you some fruit, Mr. Vector?"

The croc swallowed and shook negatory. "Sorry, Ahm a carnivore - don't believe in eatin' plants."

"You don't? Oh."

He went on. "No offense Miss, but it's cruel - I mean, it's all unsportsman-like goin' around, eatin' a form of life so _low_, so beneath ya, it can't even get a chance ta run away or defend itself!"

She watched him for a beat, gorging down his flapjacks. "Mr. Vector, those cakes you're eating were made from flour, from grain; from plants."

"Yeah," he conceded, nabbing the syrup, "but all this sugar's gonna give me diabetes, so I like ta think we're even."

After a careful consideration, Miss Vanilla smiled. For all the calm of her face, she seemed always busy to Vector; planning ahead. Even now she was spooning food to the little baby-blue chao - who fussed and mewled, without appetite.

The nasty-brown one was pawing at Charmy's food, throwing the bits of cereal he stole at the honeybee with glee - and nipping at fingers whenever the boy tried feeding him directly. Charmy took the nastiness as a good-natured game, mimicking the chao whenever it stuck out its tongue. "Aren't they cool, Vecter?"

The brown chao also looked to the crocodile for confirmation - flashing a gummy smile with two baby teeth like fangs. Vector scowled and pulled the chao far away.

"Ahum, pardon me, Miss," he said to ignore the boy's protesting, "there many udder visitors in Serena right now?"

The landlady put a finger to her chin, drawing up a list. "Well now, let me see - first there's Anna, the mouse at the - "

"A mouse?"

"Why yes - she came only a few months ago. I think she said she was vacationing from university; well, she's working at the tavern to pay -"

Vector didn't stay to hear more. He excused himself and plunged down the hallway and into the bedroom. Espio bolted from his slouch and hid a photograph behind his back. "What?"

Vector only stared back at the juicy scene he'd interrupted, his intentions sidetracked for _Later_. Espio: leaning up against the cornerside wardrobe, arms crossed, back slouched, just the way he liked to lounge around the office. But there was something oddly laughable with the chameleon spread out comfortably in a girl's sugary-pink room.

He had to think of something to say, to cover the laughter threatening to escape. "Ohh ... nothin'. Whatcha lookin' at?" He pointed to the photo behind the creeper's back.

"Beat it." Espio's glare was dead-serious.

Vector approached and tried to swipe the page. "If ya wanna look at pictures o' girls, go ahead, but gimmie a peak!"

"I said _beat it!_" Espio finally ducked and rolled through the croc's legs, retreating to the porthole window. "Forget you - I've got better things to do!"

"Fine then!" Vector retorted. _You keep yer secrets, I ain't givin' up mine! _Let the creeper crawl through an empty castle all he wanted. He needed no help closing this case!

**--------------------------**

"WOW! Lookit all the party stuff, Vecter!" Multi-coloured streamers linked the ringing trees, while paper lanterns were staked along the roadsides, welcoming crocodile and honeybee into Serena.

"Everyone's preparing for our annual spring festival," Miss Vanilla explained to her boarders. "At the end of the week we'll have music, a dance and a prize for the masquerade's best costume."

Miss Vanilla's chao were cradled along for the walk; Nasty, as Vector thought the dirty-brown one, was squirming to escape and fly along Charmy, while Mopey - the depressed bluebell - just smothered itself into its mistress's arms. The rabbit landlady didn't seem to mind; she held them dearly all the same. "Isn't it wonderful?" she beamed, " Serena's own little backyard carnival!"

"C-carnival?" Charmy was oddly still and attentive.

"Yes, at the end of the - oh my!"

Charmy had turned and shot away from the town at top speed. He wouldn't turn even for Vector's calling. "Hey Kid! Kid! Ah no," he cringed, starting a jog. " Hold on, I'll get 'im"

The burrow door had been yanked open, and he could hear Charmy's sobs from the front room. The little honeybee had smothered himself under a pile of blankets and he shrieked when Vector lifted the covers.

"NO! I don't wanna go - you can't make me! NO!"

"Charmy - "

"Don't make me go," he pleaded, soft and meek. "I don't wanna go ta the party, Vecter."

_Carnival_ was the term Charmy meant to use, but he certainly couldn't say that word without conjuring up the Nightmare. Vector scrambled his brains for something comforting.

"Hey, relax kid. Relax!" Carefully, he sat on the bed. "Look, yer scared about goin' ta the ... the party, right?" A nod. "Well heck - if you don't wanna, no one's gonna make ya!"

Was the boy listening over the tears? He needed bigger guns. "I fact, I betcha we'll find teh Queen an be outta before that dumb ol' party starts. Okay?"

Charmy had slowly inched out of his blankets - now he smothered himself in Vector's gloved claws, holding tight and crying. Vector jerked away, shaking the boy off. "Uh, listen, I gatta get back ta Miss Vanilla. You uh, you maybe wanna stay here a bit? You gonna be okay?"

Charmy was stunned from the rejection, but he bit back his tears and nodded.

"Well, okay then." Vector stood and left the room slowly, but once out of sight his sneakers bolted from the heavy anxiety.

Alone, Charmy grabbed a pillow and sobbed into the feathers.

Miss Vanilla interrogated him the moment as he returned. "Is Charmy all right?"

"Uh, yeah - guess I fergot he don't like carnivals."

He couldn't wipe the concern from her eyes, but she nodded and accepted his tale. "I hope you don't mind if we first stop off at the chao garden - these two are almost ready to Iotae, and my daughter would never forgive me if something awful happened."

Vector hadn't noticed, but Nasty and Mopey were awfully big, their topknots sprouted from an infant's nub. Any day now they could fall into Iotae sleep and begin their evolution to adulthood.

"Ain't no problem, Miss. I can see how the brown one 'ud make ya worry."

Miss Vanilla bunched her eyebrows and checked the muddy-brown chao. "You mean Chocola? Oh dear me, no." Her eyes shifted to the saddened blue. "It's Cheese I'm concerned about. He's been like this ever since my daughter left," she whispered. "He's homesick, Mr. Vector."

"Ain't he - "

"Home isn't a place, Mr. Vector."

**--------------------------**

Time felt super long whenever he wasn't feeling good - and Charmy was sure he'd hidden under the bed the whole day, he felt that miserable.

Feeling hungry and bored - but not better - Charmy wriggled out of the covers to nibble on some of the crumbly snacks he an' Espio had taken from Beth's place. He hoped he could see auntie Beth again soon. Whenever he had a really boring day, he'd visit her window at the police station. She had this cool secret police car that looked normal, but still made lights and noises. A couple times, she had to go investigatin' and she let him ride along and he got to play with the sirens!

It was too hot inside! With a bit of brute work on the front door Charmy escaped to the open air. With him was his favorite rubber ball, and he adventured himself a game - tossing the toy to the air and catching it before it hit the lava on the ground.

He was kinda starting to feel better.

Charmy played a game of catch with Missez Vanilla's front door. He was good at playing an' imagining by himself. The honeybee pitched a fast overhand toss and the ricochet socked him in the gut and knocked him down.

_Uhhh ..._ It was a dizzy kind of hurt, and he wondered why that made him laugh. ... _Wait a sec,_ that wasn't him laughing!

It was coming from the tree on top 'a Missez Vanilla's house! He hovered up the hill and squinted his baby eyes into the dark eaves.

"BOO!" A black shadow pounced and tackled him down! Bird talons pinned his shoulders to the grass and a bony beak poked its nostrils into his face.

"I GOTCHA!" Avery crowed, tittering and singing "_I scared ya, I scared ya!"_ Charmy recognized the magpie's voice and squirmed to get away.

Her legs pegged him tight! "C'mon, can't cha get up, Biiiiirdseed?" Charmy pouted and wriggled but she was too heavy! "That's not funny!" he yelled, kicking as though buried alive. Only when she pushed off his body and into the air could he get off his back.

"Go away!" he ordered. He was grouchy all over again "I don't wanna talk to you!"

"Well _I_ don't hafta listen to you, so there!" The white hi-lighted magpie fluttered back to the tree, and clamped her talons into the trunk, refusing to budge further.

_Ooh_, she made his teeth grind just being near! Last night, Avery'd got him all dirty - that was why Vecter got mad and didn't wanna see him! It was her fault! Last night, she made him race her maybe six bazillion times an' she beat him every time - an' every time she beat him she _giggled_ at him and told him he was slow - and that she was better than him until finally he ran away!

Well he'd show her - he wouldn't listen and he'd pretend she wasn't there! Charmy dusted himself off and reclaimed his ball.

The game of catch was nerve-racking - there was an itch Charmy couldn't get rid of! Every time he made a rude glance to the tree, Avery still hadn't left. She acted perfectly casual - clinging upside-down to a vertical axis and throwing her neck back like she was looking up at the clouds. Except she was watching him, and she kept humming some stupid song that got on his nerves!

"Whatcha doooin'?" she quizzed.

"Stuff," Charmy countered.

"Well it looks dumb! C'mon, you're comin' with me, Birdseed!"

"Nu-uh! You can't make me!" _Ha!_ But Avery was fast. No sooner had he pitched his ball, she lunged for interception. "HEY!"

The giggly magpie flapped overhead, talons hooked into the ball. "If you want it back, you gotta come with me," she teased.

"I don't wanna!"

"Fine, I don't care."

Before Charmy could threaten to tell on her, she was already leaving, ball in tow! By the time he found Vecter or Missez Vanilla, she'd hide it. _Grrr..._ "Oh _fine!_" he huffed. She wouldn't win if he made a big fuss about it.

"Hurry up, Birdseed!" She made a show of slowing and treading on the spot so he could catch up. "Where're we going, anyway?" he grumbled, hoping she'd let him close enough to grab his ball back.

"We're gonna go monster huntin'!" she declared, keeping him at arm's length.

"Monster huntin'?" He forgot completely about the stolen ball, transfixed in her words.

"Yup, yup, yup! A real-live one - I saw him yesterday, an' I'm gonna catch him an' your gonna help me, Birdseed!"

Her tone stressed that he had no choice in the matter, not that he wanted to leave anyway. This was just like being a super-rad detective! "What do I do?"

Avery giggled to herself. "Live bait!"

Second thoughts entered Charmy's brain. Avery nattered on anyway. "First we gotta find the monster again - I saw it walking in the valley yesterday: it's big, an' it's green an it's got a long beak with lotsa teeth an a tail ..."

She drilled off the monsters stats: little legs, super-huge arms that went down to its knees. ... Green ... teeth ...

Charmy wasn't so sure this was a monster anymore. It sounded a lot like ...

**--------------------------**

Vector lounged at the garden gates while Miss Vanilla deposited her chao with the village veterinarian. He didn't mind the wait - he knew exactly where Ellie Slater was holed up, so what was the rush? He could bag her photo anytime.

His tour guide apologized immediately. "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. There was ... a delay."

Vector had heard raised voices directed at his landlady from inside the chao garden's veterinary office, but if he asked, she might steer the conversation back at Charmy's phobia.

"Y'know - maybe I'm bein' nosey here - but I don't undastand why y'ain't worried about that - whats 'is name - Chocola?"

"I'm not sure I follow, Mr. Vector."

"Well Miss ta be poifectly honest, he's a nasty liddle sneak, he's greedy, he steals - I think he bosses that blue guy around - an he bites!"

"Oh, do you need some ointment?" Quick as a bunny she'd grabbed his claws, looking for puncture marks. He pulled away, flustered.

"Uh, I - I'm fine! B-but that chao! I mean, just look at him - he's all black an' brown. What's gonna happen when he Iotae's? The kid's goin' rotten!"

"Mr. Vector, chao may blacken and bruise, but they aren't like fruit. They don't spoil. Chocola can be ... quite the rascal - "

"So instead o' havin' a good kid, you'd take a liddle devil?"

"Yes! And I would love him all the same!"

He hadn't expected such firmness. Even Miss Vanilla seemed flustered by her tone, and diminuendoed to her motherly softness.

"It's Cheese I'm worried about, Mr. Vector. The poor thing's been upset something fierce ever since my daughter left. I have to force him to eat, he's so lonesome. It's the early years that are most important to a chao - if they don't learn and keep their energy up, well ... some of them come out of the cocoon unchanged; others don't come out at all."

She looked to him, and to Castle Hangue. "It doesn't do one well to get stuck," she whispered.

He could never agree with her. He was falling into memory: the long-haired girl from Corvalis and the two full-grown chao he'd rescued - one solid white and gentle; the other black as tar and filthy to the core. Both with wings, antenna and yellow stripes. Both terrifying possibilities.

"Things're fine teh way they are," he grunted. " They don't need ta change … or grow up inta someone rotten."

"Mr. Vector - " But he hushed her, shushing his lips and darting his snout around with suspicious sniffs. "Mr. Vector, is something the matter?"

"Nuthin," he muttered. "I just had a crazy feelin' we was bein' watched..."

--------------------------

Avery ducked her head back into the tree, fixing a disbelieving look on Charmy. "You live with that Monster?"

"Vecter's not a monster - he's a croquet-dile!" The twigs here were too close for him to hover, so he sat and swung his legs from a safe branch. Avery hung upside-down from her roost, wings spread to hold her balance.

"You're supposed to live with your mommy and daddy," she said, an accusation of lying.

"Well I kinda got lost from my Mommy and Daddy!" He'd been mad and the words blurted out.

He had her full attention.

"- but it's okay," he said quickly, "cause Vecter an Espio found me, an I get ta stay with them. Vecter told me it's kinda like havin' a sleepover!"

"So what're you doin' in Serena, huh? There's nobody like you here."

"They're ..." he hesitated, "You hafta promise not to tell, but they're detectives! An' as soon as we get a lotta money, they're gonna help me get back home!"

"Detectives!" Now she was excited. "Are you here ta catch a badguy?"

"Ssh! It's a secret! You gotta promise!"

Avery gave a short laugh as she flipped out of her inverted perch. "You can't make me, Birdseed!"

"Where're ya goin'?"

"_I-m n-ot tell-ing!"_ she singsonged.

"Well gimmie my ball back!"

"Oh that?" Avery had kept her hostage close, cradled in a nest of branches. She gave an uppity huff and used a leg to knock it to the ground. "Take it - I don't wanna play with your stupid ball anyway!" And the white-trimmed magpie launched into the sky.

_Oooh!_ His favorite ball had fallen on one of the mushroomy platforms on the tree-fort level where the birds lived. Charmy dived out of the branches to pick it up. Vecter had gotten him that ball - now she'd probably messed it all up!

"Heads Up!" The call came too late, and something round and rubbery twhacked Charmy in the back of the head and off his feet. _Ow! ... Huh?_

The missile was a rocket-shaped rubber ball - like a brown egg with pointy tips - and a rainbow of sleeves dangling off the bottom end. The novel shape and bright colours immediately made him forget his pain. "Whoa - cool! What's that?"

A prissy voice giggled his answer. "That's my Rocketball," Avery declared, fluttering down to hold a talon over her toy. "An' it's a million times better than your dumb ol' ball!"

She grabbed the rocketball by its tassels and went airborne to show off: spinning in a circle and hurling the ball like a discus. The torpedo flew in a perfect arch, streamers dancing in the sun, and bounced onto the mushroom pad, barely missing Charmy. He was too awestruck to care about the second near-hit.

"That's awesome! Can I try, can I, can I?"

"Pretty please?"

"Pretty pleeze," he mirrored.

"With a cherry on top?"

"With a cherry on -"

"Now bark like a puppy dog!"

"No!"

"Fine - here! Bet you can't throw it as far as I can!"

"Oh yeah?" They were off and running once again.

**--------------------------**

Vector couldn't contain the boogey beat of his heart - the day was simply marvelous! First Miss Vanilla took him to the solar farms where the villagers collected sunlight to power their machinery; then the acres of orchards that fed the people. His cover as a reporter went smoother than imagined - visitors were entirely welcome, and the villagers were happy to tell their stories over tea and a meal.

Everyone was most generous with food, Vector discovered, waddling from interview-to-interview and having a meal offered at ever stop! Vector recalled the tradition of the stone blocks aside every door: Every home he entered was its own little monarchy, and the homeowners checked themselves with the obligations of a king.

Miss Vanilla never actually joined him for the chats, but waited hermit-like at each burrow's front gate. Vector noticed the villagers giving his landlady a wide birth when they passed her in the street.

Community life centered around the non-burrow constructions: the schoolhouse and the church. Between these centers and farmwork, (and ministering to the tourists) everyone kept content and busy. Vector relished his visit in the chapel, bowing his head in prayer under the Four stain-glass windows portraying the Primaries, and the Great skylight high above.

That evening, Espio snuck into the burrow once again; the poor creeper was sooty and dusty from excavating the castle tunnels, and Vector figured his partner had suffered enough to spill the beans. "Hey Esp, did I ever tell ya I found our lady? Calls 'erself Anna now; works at the tavern!"

The croc had been positive he'd blow the little guy's fuse this time. It would've been a sight to remember. But Espio wasn't upset at all; in fact, where his scales weren't grimed over, he looked a little pale.

"Tell ya what, Esp - I found 'er; you finish the job. How's about you sneak inda that tavern an get us a mug shot?"

Espio caught the tossed camera. "Yeah ... sure. Later."

That word would serve as both their mottos in the days to come.

For the next three days, Vector and his crew settled into routine. Every morning he and Miss Vanilla would leave to inspect an area of town, or to complete a checklist of interviews arranged by his landlady. Espio made himself scarce in daylight hours. Charmy meanwhile, would hurry to shove down his breakfast and race out the burrow door and to the woods. If he came late to the meeting place, Avery made fun of him!

Avery informed him that she was going to be a historian and an asplorer when she grew up _(that's explorer, Birdseed!)_. She would be just like her grandma, who had discovered a whole new wing of tunnels beneath Castle Hangue while only a little girl. The feisty magpie always wore her grandmother's red bandana round her neck to seal the family legacy.

She told Charmy that even though he was slow and funny looking, he could be her assistant. It would be his job to carry all her asplorin' equipment (a neck satchel where in-flight bird talons could rout around for spades, pails an' water bottles) when she went on a dig. And if he worked super hard and helped her every day, she might let him be in the newspaper pictures when she got famous.

To cinch the deal, Avery whisked him away to the forest where she kept her secret hideout inside a rusted old water tower. There was still icky water inside, but Avery had built a floor by nestling big tree branches and sticks inside until they stuck together as a lattice. She showed him her hunting trophies - old, creepy skulls and pieces of bone she found around the valley. The bones were each so grotesque and foreign Charmy had no doubt they could only belong to Monsters!

"A lotta this stuff I found just a couple months ago. I think it's because the Moon got broken an' it's darker at night - that's why the monsters are coming out from the castle!"

Avery took him around the woods to see the recent phenomenon of 'Witch Spots': scorched circles of earth where a witch had been brewing potion. Sometimes a patch of grass and brush had been incinerated, but even rock could be scorched black. Charmy remembered Missez Vanilla's scary story: _Wraiths gliding through the valley as they please ... Thunder on cloudless nights and fire bursting in the darkness._

Avery wasn't afraid, though - if they found a witch, all they had to do was squirt her with the water bottles and water guns from Charmy's satchel. "Witches are made of sugar," Avery explained. "So if they get wet, all their little crystal pieces can't hold on ta each other anymore."

She had a tankload of arcane knowledge that always left him awed. "Wow, you're smart, Avery!"

"Well no duh!"

Everything about Avery was different: she had a hard beak instead of lips, feathers instead of scales. Her legs bent backwards like his elbows, and had three long toes that wriggled like his fingers and a fourth coming out of her heel! (Charmy decided it was sorta like having a thumb on your wrist). She could squeeze these hands like a clamp, rotate at the wrist and even stretch her legs as far as her shoulder to scratch her neck. When she ran, her feet bent backwards, up to her tummy and pushed forward like a scoop - he got to think of Avery as walking on her hands, and told this to the magpie.

"You're really weird, Birdseed." Her left 'arm' knocked him on the chest, and the weight from his assistant's satchel made him wobble and fall to her giggles.

Her wings were for flying, and maybe to spread for balance when she ran fast. She pushed and punched him using only her talons.

When they weren't digging for bones or hunting monsters, they played games like catch, rocketball, or hide-n-go-squeak (because whenever Avery found him, she jumped on him and made him squeak).

Then there was story-swapping. Avery demanded to know everything about Corvalis, about the Chaotix and Beth and all of Vector's detective cases, listening very carefully, but then she'd snort and tell him that his stories were stupid, that cities were too silly to be real _(Houses as tall as mountains? - Liar!)._

Charmy wondered if Avery was weird because she was a bird, or a girl. She kept changing! Avery was creeper black from long, bamboo-reed tail to pointed, predator beak, but with shoulders and wingtips dipped in innocent white. When she listened to his stories, she seemed white covered with black. When she'd toss her rocketball _at_ him, she was black with bits of white. Her eyes weren't any help - mischievous, chao-blue eyes balanced perfectly in-between.

Avery's wings were her bicycle, reserved for tall distances or hurried moments - getting across town, or over the woods. She moved in gymnast strides and fluttering leaps, both ground and branches. She didn't seem to like his four membrane-wings, or how he could hover hours at a time and not get tired. "That's cheating!" she huffed one day, grabbing his ankle and pulling him into the dirt. "You have to walk beside me, Birdseed!"

To make sure he couldn't get away, she insisted he hold her wing, giggling with victory. Charmy couldn't remember the last time he'd used his legs other than a landing pad. He and his satchel cramped up and collapsed in fifteen minutes. Avery was not impressed. "So what're you supposed ta be, anyway?"

Wasn't it obvious? "I'm a bee!"

"Well no duh - what's your Primary? You're not an Eagle; you don't have any feathers."

He drew a blank, and Avery snorted again. "Geez, don't you know anything, Birdseed? The Lord made four perfect peoples in His own image, and we all come from those Primaries!"

"Lord Who?"

"_Argh!_ It's not _a_ Lord, it's _The_ Lord; He doesn't have a name!"

"How come?"

"Because, stupid, my mommy says that when you give something a name, that tells you who and what it is. An He's in everything and He's everywhere, so you're not allowed to say He's one thing or one name. He's God - He can do whatever He wants!"

"Can he make a rock so big even He can't carry it?"

"If He makes you smart, I'll buy that."

"Hey! I am so s-m-r-t! ... Anyway, what's a Pimenerary?"

"_Primary_, stupid! God made the Four Primaries, an' they were the Dragons, the Manticore, the Angels an the Eagles."

He was catching on. "Oh - so then Vecter's a Dragon!"

"Pff! No he's not! There aren't any more Primaries, dummy. They're all dead: they Fell!"

**--------------------------**

"Now this is teh life!" Vector slurped back on his lemonade, enjoying the sunset and the ember-red sky like a relaxing fire from under the burrow's hillside tree.

"Good food, great weather; wundaful _neighbours_," Miss Vanilla dropped her eyes glumly _(obviously she was feigning modesty at his lavish praises - didn't hafta look so depressed, though.)_

"Hey, didn't you say you hadda daughter?"

Miss Vanilla immediately woke up, and perked up. "That's correct - my little Cream. ... Well, I shouldn't be calling her _little_ any more. She'll be seven when she returns from boarding school this summer."

The rabbit femme had enrolled her child in the Anova Academy of Learning, at no small expense. "I gadda ask - what's with teh school? I mean, you gotta great joint here in teh valley; that teacher lady I interviewed seemed plenty smart. Why ya keepin' yer girl away from home?"

Under the setting sun, Miss Vanilla gave a soft, sad smile. "I want to be sure I've let Cream see the world, and everything that's outside these valley walls. ... Because ... I don't think there will be a Serena very much longer."

His drink was on the table and his eyes completely attentive. "I don't think there's much life left in the old ways, Mr. Vector. People are growing tired of farms and struggling off the land; and so many new people have come with new ideas and new ways. So much of our money comes from tourism these days - in ten years or so this valley might be nothing but private cottages and hostels.

"So I want my daughter to see the people and cultures outside our little village; I don't want her to be overwhelmed and unprepared when they come for this place."

Vector panicked at the thought of his private paradise bulldozed into suburbs, swimming pools and golf courses. "That's awful - no, it's woise; downright sick!"

"Do you think so?" She smiled. "It's keeping yourself locked up and hidden away that's truly terrible." Her tired eyes looked to the lakeshore. "Hangue believed he could do just that - but the Lord has ways of shaking us from our complacency."

Then she looked at him. "Charmy's lucky to have a parent who can show him so much."

A shame arose, hearing his lies resonate from this innocent and generous woman. The Dragon-spawn gave a long and defeated sigh. "He's not really mine - "

"Oh don't say that, Mr. Vector. Adoption doesn't make you any less of a father -"

He laughed, a short, mocking bark. "Me? I ain't no Father! I let teh kid run wherever he wants, all day! He ain't goin' t'any school; he can't write, can't count! Kid can't even read a map! I tried teachin' him stuff, but he's so slow it just gets me so mad I can't stand it!"

His face was clutched in his leatherhide claws, hiding his failure. "I stole him, Miss. I didn't adopt him; I didn't sign any legal papers. I just took him."

"Mr. Vector - "

"Y'ever heard what happened ta teh Carnival Island Amusement Park?" The wide eyes and hand over her mouth were his confirmation. There was no going back now. He had to be purged.

"Three years ago - that made me seventeen; I'd just come over from the Westside Islands, figured I'd give big city life a try. Was a nightmare tryin' hold down a job, but I thought I hit the jackpot when I got aboard teh security team fer teh Island. They payed for teh ferry rides every morning ... heh, I had this crazy blue shirt ..."

"I was workin' the day The Doctor took over.

"First thing they did was blow up the docks, t'keep any ships from gettin' out. All these metal bees started droppin' from te sky, blastin' stuff while teh submarines heaved on shore 'n started unloadin'. I'm tryin' te keep things cool, while all these egg robots start marchin' up, proddin' people inta groups.

"They sandwiched off all teh Island's sections - marina, water park, fun house. Then they start dumpin' down these huge capsules, an' start herdin' groups inside: one box fer each ride.

"Y'd never think it, but all those lines an' turnstiles an gates - amusement parks 're pretty much ready-made prisons. I was in teh security office when they shoved me inta one of them metal boxes. Got ta share my cell with this Armadillo - name wus Mighty.

"Then it was darkness, an everythin' outside was screamin' and rattlin'. I wish I could've gotten away, at least then I wouldn't hafta imaginin' pictures behind all teh screamin'.

"Don't remember how long I spent in there, but teh prison door just opened. Me 'n Mighty figured 'that was that', and our goose were cooked. That's how I met Espio."

_You can stay in here and die - be my guest. But how about you make yourselves useful and watch my back?_

"Espio was a Chameleon - he could change colours, an' when those robots came, he hid until he got brave 'n snuck up on one. He wus just a kid - a runt - but you should've seen the guy: he was so tough, so serious, I thought he was older than me!"

The chameleon child had stolen a laser gun and shot up the guards around Vector's prison cell. He and Mighty and the little reptile boy had armed themselves and made a mad dash to escape, shooting the robots that crossed their path and unlocking whatever prison capsules they found. Espio and Mighty wanted to make a suicide break for the shore, encircled by predator submarines, but Vector championed them to go at the main security office, where the robots had set up shop. None of them knew how robots worked, but the newspapers always said there was a man in control. Maybe He would call off his robots under a little pressure?

The newly forged trio stormed through roller coasters, fun houses and entertainment tents, making use of all the shortcuts Vector had mapped while patrolling with security. They were no warriors, and spent a good amount of time hiding and dodging the relentless patrols. With the airborne buzzbombers, it was often best to run through - not around - the indoor arcades.

One such detour was the Speed Slider, a children's area full of video games, pipe mazes and slides. "We busted up all teh robots; teh other guys were movin' on, when I hear somethin' horrible ..."

A voice: just a weak mewling, tiny, scared and confused, but painful enough to pull the crocodile from his teammates. The voice was coming from the ball pit. Vector curled his claws around the rim and dipped his armored, saw-tooth snout over the pool.

Two round, caramel eyes whimpered and locked stares with the massive muscle and teeth. The boy had the most adorable fuzzy hair and a dab of sunscreen on his chocolate-chip nose. He was so cute, he made Vector forget the invasion and lapse his security role.

_Hey guy - where's yer mom n' dad?_

The boy shied his face into the ball pit and shook his head.

_Ah - y'don't know?_

He nodded quickly. The questions were enough to get tears going, to remind the child how frightened he should be.

_Well my name's Vector; an I woik here. Why don't we go look fer them t'gether, okay?_

The little boy sniffled and nodded okay.

Back in Serena, Vector was choking up. "He was just a little guy then - I could hold him in my hand, just like that. He never let go 'o me the whole time. I put 'im in my shirt pocket, but they guy crawled out an' grabbed me by teh neck an' he just held on like he was gonna die if I left him ..."

"But how did you get off the island - Did you find Iv - I mean, The Doctor?"

He'd hoped to avoid this part. "Wasn't 'im. He sent down one of 'is generals ta take care of this job. I know, cause when the four of us gat ta teh security office, he was waitin' fer us. Watched us on cameras teh whole time, an figured we might be some fun."

The lights cut off; the doors slammed shut. They caught his profile in the security monitors before he shut those off as well: a metal skeleton crowned with crescent moon spines; a twisted, wire-frame hedgehog forged in blue metal.

And then the monitors shut down, and there was nothing but the hungry red eyes and the sound of bony claws scraping together like sharpened knives. "_Come and die."_

Vector said no more. He only pointed to the areas over his body where the assassin mech had dug in his claws, guiding her furred palms over the scars. "How did you escape that monster?"

"That," Vector snarled, "is where The Guardians helped out. We didn't escape. He had us on teh ground, when teh whole buildin' started shakin. A wall fell in, an we could see teh harber. Military Division had five juicy aircraft carriers surroundin' teh island, an they were blastin' teh bees from the sky, an sinkin' all teh subs in the harbor. Game was up - that hedgehog mech smartened up an' jetted outta there before they could drop anuder bomb on 'im.

"After he left ... after the cannons kept firin', we figured out this wasn't a rescue operation. G.U.N. was out there ta make sure that boss mech, an' every last robot on Carnival Island was wiped out."

Vector's fists hammered the table, and he bit his teeth to keep his eyes dry. "All those people! They were still stuck in those capsules! They didn't have no way out.

"Mighty an' Espio were too hoit. I carried them, an teh kid, an ran fast as I could while teh bombs kept droppin', an' everythin' was fallin apart - teh rides, teh robots - everythin'. When I got ta what's left of teh harbor, I grabbed a wood board and paddled. They never saw me leave - they never saw that mech leave. We were just too little."

It took till nightfall, but the mainland came. Then the vacant weeks in the hospital, the bar, the departure and the partnership forged. And when the immigrant brought Espio back to his first apartment, the wide caramel eyes were waiting.

"An' I kept him. An now there's nothin' I can do. If I sign him up for school, for a flyer's license ... if anyone figures out how I found him they'd take him away. They'd take him away."

He could keep brave no longer, and excused himself, breathing deep breaths to hold in the flood. His story, his sin, his eyes - everything escaped.

He could hear Miss Vanilla's skirts, and sucked it all back, propping a hand against the burrow. She observed him a length, then approached the scaley, hunchbacked monster, laying a hand to his shoulder.

--------------------------

Over at Avery's secret watertower fort, magpie and honeybee sunbathed atop the riveted metal roof, trying to guess what the puffy clouds overhead looked like.

"It's a kittycat!"

"No it isn't, dummy, it's a big lion!"

Charmy's sigh flopped over the outpost like a heavy, smothering blanket. This wasn't all that fun bein' wrong all the time. "I'm bored," he huffed.

Avery twitched her beak his way. "Bored?" she exclaimed, something akin to panic in her voice.

"I guess." Actually, he was achy all over from playing tackle rocketball, wrestling, and more full-contact racing. Never in his life had he conceived Tag to be such a violent sport, but when Avery caught you, she made sure you felt that touch. "I think I'm gonna go home."

Before he could buzz away, Avery rolled to her stomach and pushed onto her feet. "No! I didn't say you could go, so you're not allowed to go!" She fanned her wings like flags to block his path.

"Well what're we gonna do then - I don't wanna watch clouds no more."

"Um ... um..." Avery's wings drooped and she clicked her talon's desperately. She perked "Oh! I know! We can go see the movie stars!"

"Movie stars?"

"Yeah! There's this lady who came here a couple months ago; she lives up on tha mountain with her butlers, an she's the prettiest lady in tha whole world!" Avery paused to heave a fangirl sigh. "Wanna go see?"

Like eager little rockets they whisked over the forest and over Serena and when the sunlight suddenly shut off, Charmy slowed and realized their destination. "T-there?" he gulped, craning his neck back to take in the black sickle curve of sinister Mount Fang. Avery had lured him all the way underneath it's shadow and the black mountain stretched over all he could see.

Avery fluttered back and tugged at his wrist. "C'mon, Birdseed, don't be a baby!"

They flew low into the shadowlands, skimming the ground, "Cause if she sees you, she gets super mad! My mommy says she's hidin' from the newspaper men!"

The younglings ducked into the forest marking the entrance to Mount Fang. Charmy felt like he'd gone into a cave; goosebumps pricked over his arms. Everything was dark, and wisps of green moss hung off the gnarly trees like ghosts reaching out to catch him. He grabbed Avery's talon at the wrist - but only because he didn't wanna get lost. He wasn't scared!

The haunted forest was all incline, growing up the foothills of Fang. A path zigzagged left and right, sometimes stopping and growing into a clearing where dark wooden cabins had been built. "They're the Chateaus, dummy! Rich people come an' live in um when its summertime!"

Avery ordered a landing, and they waddled off the path and into the creepy bushes. The magpie fixed him a look. "You gotta be super quiet, okay?" Charmy nodded vigorously, unsure whether those were branches or skeleton fingers brushing his back.

Their heads peered through the creepers. Charmy had to squint - this wasn't like the other houses, where the forest canopy broke to let in red sunlight. Whoever owned this place had let the trees grow and cover the property like a thundercloud.

He saw the final chateau, though. A tower, tall and narrow; no wings or attachments, just three rickety stories of ivy-swarmed planks. The windows were drawn, except for an attic porthole that glared light like a single angry eye.

The front door - the monster's mouth - belched out yellow light. Avery squeaked and pulled Charmy's head into the bushes. "Hide! The gorilla's comin' out!" Charmy fought from her feathery grip to let an eye peep through the leaves. "You gotta be quiet," she warned.

An ogre of a man had thundered down the front porch, rattling the wood with every footfall. He was taller than the doorframe, had to move sideways to shove his broad shoulders through and totally hidden underneath a full-length trenchcoat and a wide-brimmed hat.

Avery whispered the man's backstory. "Everyone says he's really ugly - that's why he wears that coat." Charmy noted the monster was hunched over - despite his elephant height and bulk, his floppy hat stood no higher than his shoulders. Avery said he was a gorilla, but Charmy thought the figure looked a lot like the scarecrow he'd seen in a picture book - a tall, terrible specter with beady eyes, and long straw fingers whispering out of his coatsleeves.

The scarecrow dragged a fat garbage bag over to the caged, animal-proof bin at the edge of the yard. He swung and slammed away his load violently, making Charmy gasp. "Quiet!" Avery hissed at a whisper. Charmy was getting tired of her whining.

"I AM QUIET!"

The scarecrow snapped his hunched face in their direction. He curled his straw fingers and stomped for the bushes, rattling the land. Charmy and Avery shrieked falsetto and bolted.

When they exploded out of the forest, they didn't stop until they were on the opposite end of Serena - at Miss Vanilla's burrow. They panted and huffed like sore dogs underneath the rabbit femme's umbrella-like tree, back at where it all began. Charmy was scratched and lashed by branches; Avery was carrying brambles in her feathers. They looked at each other, all tousled and tired and giggled together.

Then Avery knocked him with her talons. "Dummy! You were supposed to be quiet!"

"Ow! Well _sor-ry!_" He wasn't angry long, though; running away had been so fun! "Hey, d'you wanna come in for some juice?"

"No," Avery chirped. "My mommy says Missez Vanilla's a bad lady an' I'm not supposed to talk to her."

"Oh."

She leaned her beak into his face. "If you tell anyone we went and bugged that lady, you're dead meat!"

"I wasn't!"

She made him pinky swear a vow of silence, and they shook their smallest fingers on it. Then it was time for Avery to go home. "I'll be at the base tomorrow morning, and you'd _better_ be there, Birdseed!"

Somehow, he felt sore just thinking about playing with Avery again.

It occurred to him that he'd been ripped off - he never got to see any movie stars, just movie monsters! _Maybe I could ..._ Charmy stole a final glance at Mount Fang. The blackrock tower leaning into the valley, like a dagger preparing to drop, and it seemed to suck out all his courage.

Like a bolt of striped lightning, he was at the burrow door, banging to be let in, while the sunlight failed and the shadow of the Fang stretched its dagger hand for the valley.

**--------------------------**


	12. Fall Of The Primaries

Espio's evenings filled with a rapid, desperate chase that left his heart pounding. He'd found her.

She waited for him, leaning on the curve of her hips: the powder-white fur and the sun-bronzed skin; the ears spread large and curved and the wild mane of ivory hair shaking down her back, coyly veiling one cunning eye.

He was so close - so close he could make out the sweet black nose dotting like a freckle above her sultry little smirk. She turned and sashayed into the forest. He chased. He could get to her - he had only to crash through these teasing veils of ivy!

She was always hidden, always veiled, he reflected. The smooth flow of bangs across her face; the eyes hidden and half-lidded under long, fluttering lashes and lids drooping heavily under cool blue eyeliner. She thrived on, delighted in her secrecy.

The gap was closed; he could touch her now. His feet slipped in the gravel and they collided. Ellie S shattered like a mirror, and Espio tumbled through his reflection into an icy abyss. Darkness and empty isolation - where had she taken him? A dream! This had to be a dream!

The black void was no illusion of the mind, merely his first sense impressions after waking from the concussion. Water lapped around his waist, and he gripped his little island of rock tightly, lost in the caverns deep below Castle Hangue.

--------------------------

Scouring the castle labyrinth disgusted Espio like routing through a sewer. The surface tunnels were lined with brick, but deeper in the passageways became a mine shaft damp with moisture. He'd been following a rail line for some defunct trolley system when his ankles had snagged a trip-wire, which had launched swinging disc-blades from the shaft, impaling the opposite walls and smashing supports. Espio had ducked and found himself rolling downhill, splashing with the loosened rubble to this dark nothingness.

Espio sputtered and dog-paddled for some kind of wall or outcropping. Judging by the plip of water droplets and the deep, bottomless cold attacking his reptile body, he'd hit some sort of underground lake. _Cold._ He had to pull out before he blacked out.

Every time he tripped, he had to pick himself up. Every time the passage crumbled he had only his two hands to dig himself out. This was the fourth day he'd retreated into the tombs underneath the fortress, and he never ventured as deep as he promised; always he panted back, stumbling through the castle underground that twisted on itself like a coiled snake until he couldn't tell which way was up or down.

The tunnel trapdoors were circled by modern guardrails and Espio clawed his way out like a man buried alive. Up on the surface great oak doors were carved with eyes and gnashing teeth, torches like bones cupped flame in skeleton palms and spider-web patterns glided through the tile floors. The castle's dungeon architecture didn't scare him, but that ringing - that blasted, empty ringing the ear picked up in the absence of all sound made him cower and cover his head.

_Still daylight._ Afternoon sun beamed through the smashed cathedral windows and Espio stumbled out the inner keep's doors to meet the renewing rays.

The sacked fortress on the lakeshore was styled as a pentagram with a turret like a witch's hat atop every corner of the protective wall. Shingles had crumbled away over the centuries and eyes and ghastly leers seemed to follow him from the gaps in the tiles. The courtyards trees were rotten with sickly brown leaves while the weedy bushes were spiky and uninviting. Dead, autumn foliage lay like silt over the inner yards, and between the leaves crackling underfoot, the odd, windless rustle of trees and the skeletal faces following in the turret caps, Espio had the sneaking suspicion he was being monitored.

A hollow bang from the rusted courtyard water-tower swivelled his eye up. The spies chattered in panicky whispers, oblivious to how their voices echoed:

"It saw us! Quick!"

"What, what's out there?"

"SSSH! Just fill this up, hurry!"

The voices sounded squeaky and child-like, and slackened Espio's prior tension. He was actually just curious now, and raised his palm as an eyeshield to see what was going on.

"GET'M!" A bucket was overturned and a portable raincloud soaked Espio head to toe in stale rainwater.

It was one of the most testing insults his temper had ever weathered. Standing there, squishing his toes through spongy boots, Espio exhaled nothing but a calm, murder-contemplating _drrrr..._

Aw who was he kidding? From a standstill he pounced on the water-tower's leg and scaled to the control center like a hungry pink spider. The doomed little brats inside wailed and panicked, hearing his footfalls on the sheet-metal jug, and they screamed when he blocked their exit with an armored face complete with monster horn and crests.

And then, "Espio?"

"Charmy?" The kid had been pushed to the front as a shield by the clingy black bird inside. "What're you doing?"

The honeybee remained panicked despite the familiar face. "Espio come in quick - there's a witch outside! We were just playin' here an' Avery saw a witch so we hit it with water t'make it melt! Is it gone, Espio? An' Espio, how come you're so wet? Didja go swimming?"

Ellie, he reflected, would have the nerve to chew the kid out and put him in line with a good slap. But he couldn't bring himself to hurt the little guy - he was just so stupid.

"Espio?" The interruption came from the unfamiliar bird girl. "Wait - so this guy's that Espio-guy who works for Vector?"

"Oh, I forgot! Hey Espio, this is Avery. Avery - Espio."

The little girl was going star-eyed taking in his fabulous tail and armor. "Wow," she whispered, and to Charmy she confirmed, "He really does look grouchy all the time ... Whoa - stop, you can't come in here," she ordered, sensing the lizard's motions. "No grown-ups allowed!"

Charmy played his advocate. "Aw, pleeze Avery? Espio's really cool, an he won't tell nobody! He's not really a grown-up anyway."

Espio's growl went feral.

"Well ... okay. But he has to sit on the window, or else he'll break everything!"

Charmy was delighted. "Awesome! C'mon, c'mon, Espio - this is our secret clubhouse, isn't it cool?"

It was a rusty old water tower filled with rainwater and crammed full of sticks that these kids apparently walked and hopped along in lieu of a floor. It smelled. "Yeah, neat, kid."

He shouldn't have encouraged the boy. This was already about as awkward as scrunching up his legs into a plastic chair to join a little girl's tea party. "Hey Avery," Charmy chirped, "show Espio all the monster bones you found!"

The new company had turned the bird-girl sulky and offended. "Fine!" she huffed, and Espio noted how she chose her path carefully, so she could shoulder Charmy into the twig-pile floor as she fetched some curio from the back. The kid just smiled and picked himself up. "Avery's so cool!"

The bird jump-fluttered with an item in one talon, and shoved the relic at Espio. "It's a monster skull," Charmy explained.

Espio's colour scheme spiked electric-yellow. He scrambled backwards, climbing out the hole. "Where'd you find that?"

Avery and Charmy were unnerved by his sudden jumpiness. "The woods, a couple a weeks ago," the bird-girl explained.

His breath had lost its calm sync. "I gotta go." The chameleon dived off the tower and limped out of the castle, playing against the pain in his knees. It would take hours to circle the lake on foot, but he head to get to the village; he had to warn Vector.

Did those dumb brats really think they had bones? Couldn't they tell it was metal? Couldn't Charmy recognize the insect head with its antennae and fang mouth? Didn't they know they were playing with the remains of a buzzbomber - a Robotnik scout drone?

--------------------------

Avery and Charmy had no apprehensions whatsoever about the scrap metal they'd collected. Recovering from Espio's weirdness, they took their books and their research to the sun-baked rooftop, hoping to solve the mystery of Charmy's divine ancestry.

"You don't look like any of these," Avery declared, shutting her father's art book, _Tributes to the Primaries._ The magpie decided to consult the earliest records, and picked out her family's book of scripture to read aloud, thinking to catalogue him by blessing.

_To the Eagles, the lightning graced wind walkers, He gave a swiftness of mind to rival their limitless speed. All the created order would herald them for their prudence and their knowledge like a heavenly foresight._

Avery cleared her throat and eyed him expectantly. "Well?" Charmy stared. She scoffed. "You're supposed to herald me, Birdseed!"

Charmy didn't dare doubt her smarts. After all, Avery was being sent away to a special school in the fall just for smart people.

_To the Dragons, the armored titans of fire, He bestowed a mighty patience to endure the scourges of time. Mountains would fall but the fortitude of the dragons would never yield in their pursuit of goodness._

Pursuit ... that made him think of Vecter an' Espio. They never gave up.

_To the Manticore, mighty rulers of the mountain and rock, He balanced their hearts with a steady temperance. All the dominions would open their gates to the noble manticore; no rage or extreme would fell his body, endurant against all burdens._

Manticore, manticore ... Maybe that was Missez Vanilla? Nothing seemed to bug her - she liked everybody and never got super mad or sad. She was at equa-liberachi-um!

_To the Angels, holy maidens of the sea, He accorded the spirit of justice, and the heartfelt respect of life. Their song would steel the world in harmony, and their sword would cut down the unrighteous._

That was easy Auntie Beth - she _always_ got the badguys! Chop em down, pssew, pssew! "But which one's me?" Charmy asked, halting his fun with a worried look. He felt like he'd been left out of another detective case. "An' how come there's no more Primaries, Avery?"

"I told you, Birdseed, they Fell! Geez, don't you listen in church? The Lord made the Primaries in charge of all the land and seas and skies and told them to look after all that stuff. Then one day they decided they wanted to take over Heaven and be in charge of everything. So all tha' Primaries got together like an army on this big, huge mountain, and they all started flying, higher 'n higher till they got higher than the clouds and could see Paradise.

"And then BOOM!" Charmy jumped. What happened? "They flew too high, dummy. Everything went all black, and the winds went super fast, and they couldn't stay up. And they were up so high that they started fallin' so fast that all the Primaries turned inta shootin' stars and crashed inta earth in all these itty-bitty pieces."

Charmy thought back to the painting Missez Vanilla got from her mommy, the one with the burning rocks falling down. Then he thought about that super scary night when that weird old human popped up on all the TVs and that red star in the sky started growing bigger and brighter until the sky caught on fire. Was that how the Primaries looked, only, with a bazillion falling stars?

"Anyway, all those teeny-tiny pieces that fell - those are us, our mommy's mommies and our daddy's daddies. And now we're not allowed to be as strong, and we hafta die."

That last word rolled off her beak effortlessly, and Charmy nodded, attentive and unfazed. Grown-ups used that word when something really bad was about t'happen, but Charmy couldn't figure what 'dying' meant. If it was super-bad, it probably meant getting lost from Vecter an' Espio.

"Why did the Primaries wanna take over Paradise?" Charmy asked.

"Cause they didn't think they hadda 'nuff down here. They got greedy."

He risked another question. "Can you turn back into a Primary? Can you get super-strong an' not die?"

Avery flipped her talons through the book of wisdom. The words were in an old language, and she wasn't a perfect translator. "I don't think so. But if you're a good person then it's like you're a Primary again, 'cause they were supposed to be perfect ... aha, here it is. '_He that acts justly, loves mercy and walks humbly with their God carries the strength of an indefatigable spirit."_

It wasn't a perfect read, but it did sound kinda familiar. "But we still don't know what I'm supposed t'be!"

Avery opened her beak, but then ducked her head shyly away. She tried again from a safe distance. "Maybe your special. Maybe you haven't fallen yet."

**--------------------------**

Late that evening Espio spilled through the burrow window as a breathless mush. The leased room had become a nightly crash pad for the chameleon, a human's warm fire to a wild dog seeking comfort; tonight the flames were doused. Vector sat catatonic on the cot. His entry roused the stunned croc. "V-man, something's rotten here - I found ... I found -"

"We gat trouble." The croc knelt by his gasping partner and offered the headlines from a trembling claw. _A newspaper?_ News spread just fine in Serena by neighbourly gossip; Vector must have bummed it off one of the truckers. Supplies for the spring festival had been shipping in all day.

He took up the paper, glancing furtively at Vector, wondering what had reduced the croc to this stunned sickness. His eyes scanned the front page print, freezing over the headline picture. His face dropped to a ghastly pale. "Is that ... is that Sharps?"

Charmy's head popped up from his picture book. "Sharps? You mean the computer guy? What happened, can I see, can I?"

"It's Nuthin!" Vector answered, waving at Espio to hide the print behind his back. The front-page picture was not for children to see. The detectives huddled and toned their discussion down to panicked whispers.

Espio pecked his fingers at the photographed brutality. "Did - did _She_ do that to him?"

"That ain't teh last of it - page five, read it."

Espio flipped in, scanning the print and feeling his guts churn, trying to digest the week of barefaced carnage that had befallen the world outside their safe Serena valley. "It's like she don't care about sneakin' round no more - she's just goin' out 'n tearin' through whadever gets in her way. Didja read what she did wit those GUN-Hawks?"

Espio nodded along absently, stunned by the violence like a second ARK Incident. Restraint; confinement - these thing he and Ellie despised above all, these they longed to strip away like a dead weight. Now her final collar was off: she was an Enforcer of G.U.N., the most lethal agent to the greatest military force on the planet. The Red Queen had ascended to the height of all her power and none, not even the Guardians who had birthed her stood as challenge. Why, she had murdered two people and escaped unpunished; what threat existed that could intimidate her into continued stealth tactics? The world was her toy to abuse.

"Do you think she knows about us ... I mean, if she made Sharps talk ..." Well, the newspaper and the albino rooster's body foretold their punishments.

Vector blasted like a powderkeg. "How'd she get past us? We've been here all week - nobody's come in or outta town that I ain't seen! How's she doin' this?" Then he shook his head, so jumbled with nervous thoughts.

"This is our fault ... an we gadda finish this t'night! No more clownin' around Esp, we gatta send G.U.N. that info right now. Hand over dat picture you took."

The chameleon kept mute, and it wasn't long before the croc slapped him, hard.

"I told ya ta go ta that bar an take a picture of that Anna girl! Whadd've you been doin' all this week?"

"Yeah, Espio You're supposed t'be spyin'! How come you're here every night, huh?" Charmy joining in to gang up against him? Espio folded his arms and sunk into his wardrobe corner. "So how come you're here Esss-pio?"

"Because."

Vector snorted, "Ain't that a dumb answer," and Charmy parroted. "Yeah, dumb-dumb!"

He shut his eyes. "Because I like it here."

"Y'know, the sad part is how liddle you gadda change yer colours ta fit this place!"

And while Charmy laughed his infantile little head off, Espio stamped his foot down. "Fine, you want a picture? I'll get one; I'm the only one who does all the work anyway!"

He dove into the night. Ingrates! He snarled and snapped off their faults, weaving his way through the pitch-black village. The moon was showing its broken half this evening, leaving his march no safer than the deadened tunnels beneath the castle, the tunnels he had hidden within four days now.

Reaching the tavern required a long flight of stairs descending from its ground-side burrow mound to the grotto entrance. Every step down seemed to cut him further from moonlight and sound so that, reaching the door, he felt buried alive. His ears rang. This was the moment of confrontation. Behind this humble plank of an entrance, Anna the Mouse worked for food and board when Ellie Slater wasn't off having her way with the world. This was her domain. Through that wooden door he would meet the voice, the presence that had spoken so long to his heart.

He inspected himself in the reflection off a kunai, brushing the dirt from his shoulders and grooming his scales - blast it, he was peeling!

He entered. Inside was dark and wood-paneled, quiet and creaky-floored, the kerosene lamps dimmed to flickers at this low-pay hour. It felt - it smelt - like he'd shuffled into a wine barrel.

The door eeeked shut, announcing his presence. No backing out now. He propped his head high and marched for the bar, choosing a seat far from his single fellow patron, a miserable black puddle of a mammal sprawled head on the counter. Any closer and he'd become a vomit magnet, or a shoulder to be cry on, both rather disgusting.

"Ooh," cooed a girly voice, and Espio wondered if the owner had been sucking helium. "I've got company. What'll it be, stranger?"

It wasn't her. It wasn't Ellie. Espio's sigh was a precious release. "Water," he said, immediately pondering if he should press his luck - she hadn't asked for ID yet ...

"Wimp," she giggled, taking his pride down a notch; in return he catalogued her faults and differences. The mouse behind the bar was no natural albino - the gloss on her fur screamed 'hair-dye', while her bangs, pressed into three glued spikes of green, yellow and magenta screamed 'fashion blind'. Her muzzle was all wrong, too pronounced, too pointed, and her clothing - baggy pants, a ripped tanktop - oh, she couldn't fool him. The Ellie in his diary wouldn't stoop to wear those bargain-bin rags; not here, not where she was out of suspicion and where she could wow the peasants with her body and wardrobe.

Anna the alias-less Mouse slid over his water, "don't drink it too fast," she warned. Her voice was neither graceful nor playful; it was just squeaky. Her eyes were brown, and Espio noted in a cocky corner of his mind that Ellie's were jade, and prettier.

There must have been a lesson in all of this - _things aren't really as bad as they seem_ or some trite like that. Espio loosed his wheezy, hacking cough and raised a toast. "To life: the big disappointment."

His glass hammered the bar. Anna gave him a perky smile, reaching to refill. "Bad day, huh?"

"Bad year," he corrected, wincing at the thought. Three years - wasted.

"Y'know, you're a new face. You must be our mysterious stranger examining the town."

A crash interrupted. The mammal sprawled at the counter had jerked alive as if prodded with electricity. He'd fallen trying to stand. Gasping at their stares he pounced up, running - or, he tried to run, but his clumsy legs dragged across the floor like a kid trying to scratch up a static charge. He escaped by a dragging limp, and Espio wondered if he was crippled. "What's with the gimp?"

Anna giggled like a squeaky-toy. "Oh, that's my Sephie. Just ignore him, he's weird like that." She launched into a lament. "Poor Seph. T'was never a more miserable atelerix."

Espio started. "_What_ did you call him?" The clues rushed like blood through his head. Jairdan insisting the thief be someone new, the bloodstain in the museum, the wound delivered to the thief, the mammal limping out the tavern door. The mammal limping from a gunshot.

His stool was knocked over in the race to catch up.

Seph was galloping the last steps on all fours, skirting out of the grotto. Espio spider-sprinted up the stairwell to catch the stranger duck around a corner. Running around the tavern burrow. Espio ran overtop the mound to intercept.

Gone. But ... blast, it was too dark to see a thing! Lay down in the shadows, clamp up, and the night would make you a bonafide chameleon. But Vector knew everybody in town, didn't he? Waving his arms to check the path, Espio dashed blindly for the rabbit's burrow. Hopefully Fathead would still be good for something.

--------------------------

"I had him!"

Vector and Charmy spun at this second interruption. "Who, Espio, who? Didja get the picture, didja, didja?" The chameleon was in a mighty funk like a warrior dishonored, and shoved the honeybee from his face.

"The Atelerix, that's who! The guy they shot at the museum, the one G.U.N. couldn't figure out if he had mammal or lizard blood! Listen Godjira, Ellie's got some punk working for her and I found him! _This close_ and I would've nailed the little gimp!"

"Whoa, slow down. You okay, Yuffie? Y'look like you took a tumble."

He'd taken several getting back here, not counting the fall at Castle Hangue. Between the dirt and his peeling scales the chameleon was a wreck. "Clamp it! Look, you were wrong about Anna, but Ellie's definitely hiding here! She's staying with this black rat guy named Seph. Where's he live?"

"Rat guy?" Vector gave his head an honest scratch. "Don't remember visitin' any rats here in Serena."

"Espio's makin' stuff up, Vecter! Anyway, that was probably just a butler for that movie star who lives on the mountain."

All eyes fixed on Charmy, and the honeybee gasped, realizing his mistake. The Detectives encircled and ganged up on the little boy, now looking very small and very timid at the center of attention.

"Mountain?" Vector quizzed. "Mount Fang?" Espio prodded. "There's someone living up there?"

"NO!" Charmy squeaked. "There's nobody there I'm not allowed to tell you about. Uh, I mean, you're not supposed to know I'm not supposed to say anything. I mean, maybe there's some lady up there, but I don't know about her and I didn't bug her I, I, I -" The boy gave up. "I made a pinky swear," he whimpered. He was the worst best friend ever!

--------------------------

"The chateaus?" Miss Vanilla was quite surprised to have her evening read interrupted with this interrogation. "Oh, well those are the private cottages built specifically for the summertime tourists who spend the season vacationing in the valley. They have quite the wonderful views, actually. You're able to see the entire valley from -"

Vector pushed to the point. "Why didn't you tell me 'bout those?"

Miss Vanilla closed her novel, keeping a civil tone. "Mr. Vector, I had hoped we might visit the chateaus this afternoon, but after yesterday evening ... well, I didn't think you'd feel well enough to make anymore interviews. You have spent the entire day indoors."

He rolled his eyes; it was a lame excuse in his mind. The rabbit added, "there is one occupied chateau, and the lady of the house has made a special request not to be disturbed. I thought it neighbourly to respect her wishes."

"Right. Gatcha."

She stood to interrupt his departure. "Mr. Vector?" Her eyes shied, and her hands played nervously with her skirt. "I know I am not the kind of woman who should be lecturing about family, but," she took a supportive breath, "after what you told me last evening, I need to know that you have that boy's best intentions in mind."

Was that it? "Sure, I'll get on it."

"I mean it." Her weary hazel eyes had lit with a spark, the strength of a mother. "Mr. Vector, Charmy is not going to grow up 'someday'. He is evolving into someone new everyday. Please, just keep that in mind."

He stomped away without answer.

**--------------------------**

Security in Serena was limited to locks on doors, and even then most people slept peacefully with their home unbarred and a breeze through their windows. Using his kunai as wedges, Espio forced open a window at the town hall to peruse the village records. Land leases and seasonal rentals were what he was after, flipping through cabinets with a flashlight and a careful finger.

Over his shoulder, Charmy pleaded for a stop. "Pretty pleeze Espio, I'm gonna get in trouble! You know Jenny Nova, that mouse-girl from that movie poster _Loveless?_ That's who Avery says she is!"

The chameleon chuckled. "So this Seph guy works for Jen Nova, huh?"

Vector's snout popped through the office window. "Anythin'?"

"Got it," Espio nodded, picking out a file. "Says here chateau number one's been rented out since three months back." That coincided with the start of the burglary spree. "The lease is under ... huh, whaddya know."

"What? Hurry up wit' it!"

Espio clapped the file shut, raising his eyes along with his electric pigments. "The house up on Mount Fang has been rented out to one Mademoiselle Arya Rane."

--------------------------

Charmy had orders to guard the open-mouth entrance to Mount Fang's haunted forest, but inch by giddy little inch he'd crept inside, testing his limits. He an' Avery had gone close as the front yard, but for their prank Vecter an' Espio were gonna press their faces to the window panes!

_Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy_ - That was his heartbeat, and for every twitch of his wings it pounded double-time, leaving him hysteric and suppressing giggles. _Oh boy, we're gonna get in so much trouble!_

Light flashed and feet galloped through the bushes to the adrenaline whip of _go, go, go!_ A door slammed and feet clicked on a porch. Charmy squealed, _We're gonna get caught!_ and bolted for Serena with the other pranksters. Vecter an' Espio didn't stop till they were inside the tree ring and had a tall trunk to duck behind.

"Did we get it?" Espio's camera was a bulky, instant-picture-taker and the chameleon was fanning his polaroid to speed its development. Vector hunched close, making a glimpse impossible.

And then, "We got it."

It was the call for celebration. Vector grabbed his partner and tossed him to the air. "WHOO YEAH BABY! WE'RE GONNA BE RICH!"

Rich. That meant ... Mamma and Daddy! Charmy tackle-hugged Espio the picture-taker! Vector, in turn scooped up the both of them and tried to parade around with his boys on his shoulders (Charmy squealed - Horsey ride, horsey ride!) until the Chaotix Express tripped on a rock and they all went tumbling down into one big happy pile of laughs.

Espio let himself give in to the buffoonery, reminding himself this happiness with Vector was all just a temporary reprieve.

"Ow!" It was Charmy who stopped the fun and games, rubbing his arm where Vector had given a cheerful slap on the shoulder, sending the 'dile into full-blown maternity mode. "Hold still kid, lemmie see." An ugly bruise marked the boy's shoulder, but it was not fresh, and neither were the other bad spots along both his arms.

Vector was appalled. "Where'd you get all those, kid?"

"I ... I fell," Charmy muttered back, bashful at the attention. Espio sighed.

"That bird-girl gave him those. _Whatsherface_ - Avery? I saw it this afternoon; she shoved him down like a punching bag."

"WHAAAT? Somebody hit you? Who's this Avery punk, I'll knock 'em dead!"

"No Vector, Avery's my friend! She didn't mean it!"

"So she DID!"

"Vec-Ter, you're not listening!"

"Believe me V-man, this'll be a good story."

Charmy took a deep breath and moved to damage control. "Avery's my friend! She's smart an' she's fast an' she lets me play with her if I carry all her stuff for her. She only hit me that one time cause I was bein' slow, the rest was when we were playin' a game, or cause I wasn't listening, or cause she felt like it. Oh, and sometimes she pulls my antenna, but that's just if she wants t'tell me something." Two gaping faces forced him to an early summary. "She's not mean, or nuthin."

"Kid, she's a bully!" Charmy's eyes went wide but Vector stuck to his guns. "You don't let people walk all over you like that! You gotta stand up fer yerself!"

"Bu-but ..." Espio snapped in. "He's right, kid. That's pretty low, getting beat up by a girl."

"But you an' Vecter fight all the time an' yer still bestest friends!"

That left them all stuck for a good while. Vector broke the stupor, bending on knees to take the boy in his confidence. "Next time this Avery girl tries ta hurt ya, or does anythin that you don't like, you tell her ta stop it, and if she don't, you come get us."

Espio illustrated, smacking fist in palm.

Charmy was all gapes and stutters, trying to figure out a world that had suddenly spun upside-down. _Avery ... a bully?_ He would spend much of the night tossing over this new information until he gave in to sleep.

The Chaotix and Charmy plodded back to the burrow with a forced silence, shushing and hissing each other quiet. They woke Miss Vanilla anyway, and she regarded at her two visible patrons with that knowing _boys will be boys_ smile. Charmy was handed off for bed, while Vector would make a 'walk' around the village. Before he could leave to complete the case, Charmy jumped from Miss Vanilla's arms and latched an extra-special hug on Vector's neck. The croc went stiff, but improvised a little pat on the head. He was off and running as fast as his short legs could move.

When he arrived, Espio had already infiltrated the Serena library. Vector had vocalized his reservations about all the evening's breaking-and-entering, but this was the only place with a computer, and he wouldn't allow the Queen even an hour more to poison the world.

Espio was a pale-blue specter concentrating on the glow of a computer screen, and Vector was struck with an impression of deja-vu. Back in Corvalis, he imagined ol' Cid Wheeler's apartment had been this same solitary torchlight and rapidfire clack of keys under the watchful eye of a blade wraith. He tried to sneak up, to catch Espio as the Queen had caught the renaissance-geek, but the creeper was too tensed to be surprised.

The light intensified with a wide sweep as the scanner recorded and fed their photograph into the terminal. It was a nice side profile; an action frame: pulling on a jacket, mouth wide, yelling at a phantom off-screen. She'd been quick to catch the flashbulb at her window; the Lord must have gifted them an extra burst of speed to escape as they had.

Espio was at his emotionless best as he accessed the Network and pulled up _Franklin's Find'ums_, the bounty-hunting site of the Guardian spy, Stuart. _Stuart, Franklin_ - what was with these Enforcers and all the names?

"We're ready," Espio grunted, wanting attention. The scanned picture, the location of the Peasant's Valley, Espio's bank account number for payment transfer; all was in readiness and the chameleon's finger hovered over the mouse like a guillotine. "Once I push this Vector, it's all over."

Vector had been massaging a sharp pain in his neck but now his hands moved to catch Espio's. The chameleon startled, and on his face was the terrified surprise flashed by Grinder, Sharps, Nack and every double-crossing lowlife whose schemes had been fouled by detective Vector.

"I've made up my mind, Vector."

The connection hadn't sunk yet and Vector snorted amiably. "Relax Horntop; lemmie sit down. I just need ta see one thing."

Hunched over the controls, the crocodile called up the bounty rosters while Espio hung at his side, fiddling with shuriken. "Just what I thought," Vector nodded, startling his partner. "G.U.N.'ll pay out fifteen-thousand if ya tell 'em where the Queen is. ... But if you bring 'er in yerself ..." He turned the monitor to allow Espio a look.

It was the magic number. One million.

"No." Espio back-stepped from the screen like a demon from sunlight and when his fingers pointed to Vector they were full of ninja blades. "I will not allow you to do this. I have not followed you all this way just so you can rip my success away! I am taking the money; not this ... insanity!"

Vector stood with a hearty little laugh, but Espio only backed further into his fighting crouch. "Esp, don'tcha get it? This is our Somethin'! Somethin' spectacular, a comeback. This is our Big Case - it's what you wanted all along. We ain't gonna be nobodies no more - we're gonna be the somebodies who took down the Red Queen!"

A kunai was aimed straight for his snout. "Don't lie, this isn't about what I want. This is about Charmy!"

"Charmy?"

"Don't give me that look - the kid's all you can think of! You're always worried about what he's doing, what he'll copy if we do something illegal; I can't say even one dirty thing about that boy without you swatting me! And half of fifteen thousand's a bit little to keep a kid happy, isn't it, Vector?"

Disarmed, Vector fell to his seat in mumbles. "I wus thinkin' ... we could hire 'im a tutor maybe ... I dunno ... all stay in Serena? ... Esp, that money wouldn't even last the two of us all that long! Please?" In the chameleon's silence he grew bold again. "C'mon, wassamatta Espio? Yer naught scared o' her, are ya?"

Espio did not move, but some quiver rested over his lips, a nervous swallow in his throat. Vector realized that, though his body blocked the computer glow, the creeper had his colours locked in a deathly pale blue. "Esp ..."

His offered hand was slapped away. "Don't touch me!" Espio's temper had finally broke, and every word spat and snarled from the vicious little spitfire who surrendered defeat. "I'll do it," Espio conceded. "But this is the last time I do you a favor, Vector!"

Wondrous relief! "Haha, I knew you'd - "

"The last time ever," Espio reiterated, turning away. He took no pleasure, no smirk in seeing slow dawn over the croc's face.

"Esp ... yer not ... no, you wouldn't! We - we're partners!"

"Excuse me, are those headphones still pounding at your brain? I'll say it simple, Maestro. I'm leaving. The band's breaking up, the symphony's falling apart; I'm going solo."

It clicked. "How long? How long you been plannin' this - answer me! Look at ya, Y'can't even look me straight in the face! What're you gonna do all by yerself?"

"Live. Succeed, and not get dragged back into the gutter by some idiot immigrant! I spent my whole life stuck at the bottom, Vector, just like our office! You can't hold me down any longer!"

He broke away, to control himself and his oscillating colours. "I'll help you catch Ellie, but that's it. Once she's gone we're through. You take the kid, you take your half of the money and do whatever, just don't wait for me."

He was bracing for a slap across the face, a whack to rattle some sense into his head and an emotional plea to reconsider, to stay. "All right," Vector nodded. "Whaddever you want, Espio."

"What, just like that? No tears, crocodile?"

"Who fer - a drop-out runt an a racist? No one's gonna miss you."

The crocodile turned and walked off, leaving Espio to throw useless retorts. "Fine then! I don't need you!"

Alone in the library, under a dead moon, Espio crumpled and crushed hands over his ears. _That ringing ..._

--------------------------

Marching through Serena, Vector covered his own ears with the pound of rock music. So Espio had his big plans - let 'em leave; the Chaotix had no room for a traitor! One less mouth t'feed!

Chaotix. He stopped, and wondered how you spelt it in the singular.

Vector turned to the library, but a stab of anger hardened his heart and he clomped down his path like an ogre. Things would be better alone. More room, less arguments, more money to himself. He had visions of food and leisure stacked high as the mountains; if he just climbed high enough, he imagined he would find Paradise. Mount Fang, dark lord of the peasant's valley, would be the foothold to propel him into that heavenly stratosphere.

High above the black sickle-rock, the blink of electronic lights swooped down for the mountains like a shooting star.

**--------------------------**


	13. White Lady Unveiled

Charmy found himself in the strangest dream that night. It made so much more sense asleep; as soon as he woke, the images slipped like sand through a sieve. There were two people in his dream that he saw from the back - and they looked just like him, only bigger 'n taller. The man called for him to hurry up, and Charmy raced after the figures, scooting around to see more than their backs.

Looking at them front-on, Charmy was shocked to discover their blank slates. They had no faces.

Then he bolted up in a sweat, among an accompaniment of plush dolls, and on either side of the room, Vector and Espio throwing acidic scowls across the bed.

_I can't remember what they look like ..._

**--------------------------**

Missez Vanilla brought them breakfast 'n bed that morning; Vector intercepted the rabbit-lady at the door and accepted delivery. "Are you sure you won't be attending the church service, Mr. Vector? I think it would be an important addition to your article."

The croc faked a cough. "Ahm sorry Miss, but I'm really feelin' lousy. Me 'n Charmy better take it easy t'day, I guess."

They huddled around the breakfast trays like back at the office, but Charmy wondered why no one was speakin', or why Vecter an' Espio weren't really eatin' nuthin. Charmy himself was ravenous in devouring everything on his plate - shoving bread in his mouth and inhaling it like a vacuum - but when he noticed the absent, worried chewing of his elders, he shrunk awkwardly, tore off the slice of bread hanging from his mouth and took the detectives cue, slowing down to a civil pace.

Vector explained to him the plan - how they were going back to Mount Fang to catch that Ellie lady; how Charmy was going to help them. The boy's antenna bristled as the diagrams and secret schemes were imparted - and he lit up with Birthday delight when Vector asked for his helmet, and tucked in a cool looking machine. "Try it on," the croc urged, "can ya hear me?"

Charmy's antenna tingled! Vecter was talkin' inside his brain! "Awesome!"

A microphone taped to his seldom-used chin strap ensured that Vector received the victory whoop deafeningly loud and clear. The scavenged casings of the walkie-talkies they'd splurged on for their mission littered the floor. Vector had taped the radio receivers into his headset, and wrapped the speakers along rods ending by his snout. One ear was for Charmy's unit; the other would pick up Espio, also sporting a tiny earpiece and a long wire stretching to a wrist-taped microphone.

Once the village gathered in the chapel, they would strike. Charmy couldn't wait, so he exploded outside to release some energy (and to practice his part). He buzzed low to the ground, stopping his wings suddenly and letting his speed throw him into log rolls. It had ta be perfect!

"Heyyyyy Birdseed!" A familiar pair of talons slapped his shoulders from above and faceplanted Charmy into the ground. Avery landed daintily at his side.

"Gotcha! C'mon, let's play!"

_She's a bully_ - Vecter an' Espios' talk pounded his ears while Charmy picked his dirty self up. Avery continued to chatter about her plans, but Charmy breathed out, "No."

She'd been all but ready to push off, and now the magpie resettled her wings. "Aw, c'mon Birdseed - quit whinin'!" She yanked at his blazer to get him going.

Charmy slapped away her foot. "No! Stop it! I don't like that!" His face was grim, dark and smudged in dirt, but Avery pouted and tried him again. "Geez, what's you're problum, Birdseed?"

She wasn't expecting the honeybee to shove her down. Avery fell on her back in a shriek, tangled in her wings. Charmy stomped on the ground, kicking dirt in her face and yelling,

"How come you're always callin' me that? Is it 'cause I'm different? Is it 'cause I've got different wings an' I can fly longer than you?"

She hid her beak and refused to open; tears were forming; Charmy yelled until she burst. "How come you're always pokin' me, or pushin' me an teasin' me, huh? How come?"

Avery shrieked with enough force to stop time. "Cause I _like_ you!"

Silence, and the ruined sobs of the magpie crying herself to pieces. Avery turned and fled, too ashamed and embarrassed to be seen by anyone.

**--------------------------**

Cooped up in the little pink room, waiting for the townsfolk to congregate at church - it was all a waiting game. Espio sat in his corner, rubbing fingerfulls of grass over his horn, camouflaging the cartilage with chlorophyll. He wore only gauze around his palms and feet. He couldn't afford to be spotted thanks to a worn out boot or glove.

Vector fiddled with his headphones, but said nothing, and glanced nowhere near the deserter. The respect was mutual.

Then Charmy shot through the window, into a perfect dive under the bed. Espio raised an eyelid. "What, back already?"

"Yer sweatin' - kid, you okay?"

A hoarse voice yelled back. "I don't wanna talk about it!" He didn't know how to talk about it, or the sick queasiness in his tummy, or the shakes in his skin. Charmy had never, ever felt so scared, and by such a tiny word.

"Good timin' anyway; time t'move out."

Serena stood deserted, a ghost town. Faint chanting waved from the village chapel: unified, harmonious music - the town gathered together in worship and song. Vector, Espio and Charmy Bee walked apart, and alone.

The final chord of unity was the instructions rehearsing through each their minds. _An injured child lures the rats from their hole. An open door is an advantage taken. The mole locates the enemy armory, while the poor, helpless decoy procures a guide through the big, scary woods. Decoy lures his escort to Mr. Crocodile - POW! Mole sneaks away weaponry. All units converge on house and take out remaining (defenseless) bogeys. Let guilty party sit one hour while media arrives; serve Queen a la mode with ropes and duct tape._ No problem!

The sky was cloudless, the sun brilliant, and a slight, ticklish breeze wafted wildflower scents. "No good," muttered Espio the doom-monger.

"What's no good?" Charmy bubbled from Vector's backpack.

"Nothing," Espio sneered. "I'll just have to do brighter colours to match. Then, of course, there's shadows. ... Kid, get movin', will ya."

The caramel eyes ducked into their pouch. "I don't want her ta see me," he whimpered.

"Kid, I need ta talk t'Espio. Go on." With the honeybee out of earshot, Vector approached his former partner. "Here - fer luck."

A stone-smooth kunai pressed into Espio's palm with insulted reception. "What am I supposed to do, juggle for her?"

"Insurance," Vector snapped. _So you don't get hurt._ "When you screw up, that's all the help yer gettin'."

Espio's covered the blade with his claws. _Thanks._ "Don't go through my stuff," he scoffed.

"You guys, we're here!" Neither reptile had noticed the sudden darkness, nor the gaping mouth of the forest ready to swallow them. They tossed their necks back, scaling the dark slopes of Mount Fang. Even in such perfect weather, the mountain refused to shed its dark rock, its black aura. The scythe blade surely bent forward, to inspect the insignificant gnats that dared approach the hungry forest at its base. It's shadow rushed to meet the divided Chaotix.

"One last job," Espio grunted. Vector nodded.

"Move out boys. Everythin' ends t'day."

**--------------------------**

Tucked behind the eaves of a tree like a precious secret, Vector hid far back enough that he could squish the chateau between finger and thumb; his ears though, had front row seats to Charmy's performance, and he followed the yellow bomb crash through the treeline and 'into' the ground.

"RAUGHHHH! I SCRAPED MY KNEE!" Vector pretended not to hear the colourful adjectives the boy inserted. With binoculars raised he could see the kid writhing and clutching his leg on the front yard. Showtime!

The door blew open; a woman bundled up behind a white jacket stepped out, followed by a black mammal hastily pulling on a toque and zipping his jacket. They stalked over to the shrieking child; the man trying to comfort the boy, but approaching hysterical Charmy was like touching a fire; the boy screamed all the closer he came.

"Atta boy," Vector whispered, "keep it up." While the man and woman argued over how to approach the child, Vector shifted attention to the ajar front door. The air before the porch rippled slightly, distorted as from gasoline fumes, but that was all the indication of Espio's infiltration.

"Okay kid, dry up." Charmy immediately dimmed his yelling and went pacifist, allowing the woman in white to carry him inside. Ellie's black bodyguard gave the yard a keen lookover before shutting the door. Vector stowed away his binoculars. _Okay boys, its all up t'you now._

**--------------------------**

The first room was a foyer with an immediate staircase. Espio galloped the stairs on all fours, ducking a corner and solidifying his colour scheme with the dark, oak-panel walls. Not good. The whole house was thin and narrow - he could keep invisible but if anyone walked down a hallway with him, they'd easily bump each other. Floor two was just a balcony railing and a hall leading to bedrooms.

"_Let's get you some ice, hon."_ Charmy and his procession of care-givers moved through the foyer and out of sight. The floor creaked; Espio swore the black rat looked his way - but he had orders to help downstairs and moved on.

The creeper timed his steps with Charmy's loud yelps, "OW! Owowow, it hurts, it hurts," and began inspection. Had to find out where they hid the weapons. His chameleon claws and horn wrapped around the first doorframe. _Hello ... Jackpot!_

**--------------------------**

"_There, how's that, sweetie?"_ Vector could hear the entire conversation through Charmy's earpiece, right down to the shutting clasps on the first-aid kit.

"B-better," warbled Charmy's voice. "I wus flyin an' I flew too low an, an I fell thru the trees an, an -"

She shushed his explanations away. How such a depraved monster could sound so gentle, lovingly, confounded Vector. Her honeydew voice made him shiver ... what was Charmy going through? "_It's all better now, hun. How are those gorgeous wings - can you still move?"_

"Uh huh." The earphone hummed with the boy's exemplary wing-beats. This was the crucial part. "But - I don't know how ta get home. I've never been in these woods b'fore!"

"_Oh don't worry; you just follow the path and -"_

Theatric screaming interrupted: "Wuaaaah! I'm gonna get lost! Wuaaaah!"

The woman sighed and caved in. "_Ssh, don't cry. We'll show you the way." _Her gentle voice went business-like. "Take him."

A shuffling proceeded, which he pegged to the atelerix. The female voice snorted at the mumbler. "_Just walk with him to the edge of town; he'll figure things out from there."_

"Fine."

Vector hopped from his tree, into position. Phase One - divide and conquer. Phase Two - pacify the opposition - was up to Espio.

A quick static burst went over the line. "You done there, Espio?" The miserable creeper wasn't responding; no sound but the shake of footsteps; what in blazes was he up to?

**--------------------------**

_Gemstones..._ Espio had stumbled upon a room of treasure. The back window had its shutters open, and sunlight like gold sparkled and refracted across the table of plundered riches.

Every beautiful item had its own padded jewelry box, and the table was covered with a cloth to prevent scratching. Pearl earrings and diamond necklaces; bracelets and rings, but greater part of the loot was raw gemstone, too majestically large to ever hang from an ear, or to mount on a ring. Slivers of jade, sapphire prisms, rubies like a bowl of cherries and a golden butterfly with jeweled wings.

Espio chose a nice pink opal the size of an apple and admired the many handsome chameleons staring out of its facets. Fifty-thousand was a nice start, but just one of these beautiful crystals would double, no, _triple_ his payoff!

Quiet as a predator cat, Espio selected a smaller specimen - a palm-sized ruby, and, finding himself scarce on pockets, stuffed the gem under a flap of shedding skin on his upper arm. _Crikey, I'm a wallaby,_ Espio smirked to himself. The bulge was insignificant, and he'd see about the rest later. Priorities - get Ellie's guns, get Ellie.

Turning to leave, the chameleon ran into a wall, a wall not standing behind him previously. A wall clothed in a trenchcoat and whose eye he met in a cycloptic belt buckle. Espio craned his head up and the giant tilted its fedora-brimmed shadow of a face down in return.

Oh shoot.

"INTRUDER!" The scarecrow backhanded him to the ground, bellowing like a gang of baritone megaphones. It wasn't even a punch, just a slap, but Espio felt his chest compact as if hammered with a lead pipe. He wheezed and coughed while the floorboards shook at the monster's approach.

"Stay back," he hacked, brandishing his one kunai as if he had the strength (or the guts) to attack.

One gargantuan ape-paw was enough to clutch his chest like a banana, and Espio was hoisted into the air, his ribs compacting under a vise cold as metal. His arms dangled free; he had to make this heartless plunge. Espio thrust; slashing through the overcoat, slitting the strawman's casing, sternum to shoulder.

He'd half-expected bugs to spill out like sand. But not this. Not this blood-red sight under the fabric, filling his eyes; wide, horrified beads of amber.

Blood-red battle armor, undaunted by a silver scratch, a massive black pad of a shoulder, and a face that was not a face, but a band of electronic sensors.

"You're a robot!"

The scarecrow loosed another synthesized roar and pitched him to the ground. Pneumatic gears _hiss-chunked_ over the rattling floorboards; this time Espio was seized by the back of his crested skull, plucked like a puppy at the scruff of his neck. "ALL INTRUDERS MUST BE ELIMINATED!" declared the baritone voices, and the war mech stomped like a locomotive for the nearest wall, picking up speed and holding Espio to the front.

The mighty arm geared back, the wall panels rushed at his face, and Espio screamed.

**--------------------------**

Far away, Charmy knew everything was okay. The chirping flickeys and the easygoing blow of wind assured him, and in fact, he wasn't scared of the forest no more! He wasn't even scared of the black rat walking with him down the path (though he was a little scared about keeping his snickering in check). Charmy _knew_ what was gonna happen just a few steps further, and boy oh boy, it was gonna be funny!

At the upcoming bend in the road, Vector congratulated himself at his flawless impersonation of a bush - he'd snapped some nice, leafy branches off the trees and had tucked them through his arms to wear like a backpack. Or maybe a turtle shell was more accurate, as he was low on his belly with his imitation fronds held to the air. C'mon _Sephie_, just a bit closer. Vector's tazer was locked and loaded.

"SO," Charmy hummed, loud and figuring he had to cover for Vector. "IT'S SUPER NICE OUT, HUH?"

Vector saw the black mammal give a peculiar scowl to the odd boy. " ... yeah," he whispered, very hesitantly. The guy was still wearing that winter toque and jacket, and Vector imagined the rat's mind plenty distracted with dreams of stripping off the hot gear. Weird, he never took his hands out of his pockets.

Charmy continued. "YUP, YUP, YUP! ISN'T IT SO - " A shrill beep interrupted. The black rat pulled out his left hand and ... a walkie talkie?

"_Shadow, someone's in the house! Get back here - the kid's a spy!"_

The black rat transformed to glares and daggers, and while Charmy paled and panicked on the spot, 'Shadow' darted his eyes about and locked target on camouflaged Vector.

"DON'T MOVE!" The crocodile jumped out with his gun and all his decorative branches. The rat coldly raised his left toe, and flashed a jet of fire and exhaust across the ground, through Vector's legs. The greens on his back lit up like a pool of gas.

"NAH!" Vector screamed and flailed his arms. There was fire at his back and he had to get away. _Water!_ His mad feet raced into the bushes where a root knocked out his ankles and threw the crocodile to the air. Vector crashed on his back, tumbling down the mountain like a rockslide; screaming and falling from the center of a ball of fire.

"VECTER!" Charmy had no chance to rush and help; the atelerix stowed his communicator with sharpshooter speed and snatched the honeybee from the air, crushing the boy like a bundle. The right arm flew from its pocket with his firearm - a rich, violet gemstone throbbing like a heart, which he raised over his head to the cry of "_chaos control!"_

A blast of violet witch-glow consumed kid and kidnapper, emptying the forest trail.

**--------------------------**

Somewhere in a room dark as death, Espio's eyelids lifted, his vision battered out of focus. The air was heavy with the pound of metal and pistons, but a solo note daunted the ghastly steel machine: the cool click of heels on the floor.

_"Well, what do we have here?"_ That voice! Through the blur of his ruined eyes a shimmering form came forth. Her aura spread to a heavenly expanse and the shadow of her head wore a tiara with two horns.

The Red Queen was coming for him.

Hands on hips she shook her head. _"Oh, is he waking up? I'll handle that."_

One step and she mercilessly battered his head, smashing his consciousness with her arms.

All four of them.

**--------------------------**


	14. III:Strength Of The Indefatigable Spirit

_**Don't  
You mess  
With a little girl's dream  
'Cause she's liable to grow up  
Mean. **_

_**Surprise you to find that I'm laughing?  
You thought that you'd find me in tears?  
You thought I'd be crawling the walls  
Like a tiny mosquito and trembling in fear? **_

_**Well you may be king for the moment  
But I am a Queen, understand?  
And I've got your pawns and your bishops and castles  
All inside the palm of my hand. **_

_**Now I have taken control. **_

**_Watching you squirm in your shoes  
A small bead of sweat on your brow  
...ooh,  
this is beginning to feel good ...  
_**--Control. Poe.

o

o

Mount Fang - the black char of sickle-rock; dark lord of the peasant's valley - smoked with fire. The terrible vision was wasted on Serena, congregated to worship and prayer indoors, but one miserable heap of a girl saw and heard all: heard the animal howl of fire against meat; saw the vapor steam up from the haunted forest at the mountain's base, saw the smoke run through the trees in a perfect comet tail until the mountain spewed the fiery mass from it's hallowed ground.

The girl blinked, and the fall was over. Wind wiped away the smoke and scream while the black sickle glared into the valley, daring her to raise a voice in protest.

The girl ducked her head and hid.

**--------------------------**

Vector blinked and coughed himself awake, spread-eagle on his stomach, the centerpiece to a twisted crash site. Water sloshed while he moaned to his knees - Miss Vanilla had warned him how slick and wet winter's thaw had left the valley, and Vector had slammed down in a mucked-up swamp, greased black and muddy and aching with uncountable sores, a dirty disgrace huddled at the great mountain's foot.

He remembered falling, and fire clawing at his scales; sure enough his eyes caught the path he'd bulldozed through the bush, and the croc stared at it dumbly with the aftershock of a bad night of partying. _I did all that?_

Reality hit him stone-cold sober. _Charmy._ Oh God. _Espio._ He yanked the heated mike rods to his snout. "Charmy?" Nothing. "Espio?" Static.

He fell, caught by his palms, feeling weak and drained. They were still up there on Mount Fang. Oh God, what was happening to them?

ooooooooo

"LEMMIGO!" Charmy flailed in steel-strong paws, screaming until his voice pierced altissimo and his yelps were animal shrieks. "STOP IT! STOP - LEMMIE GO!"

Charmy kicked, he bit, but the metal claws pressed him in without the slightest effort. The unseen brute slammed him onto a stool; pinned his shoulders. Charmy's wings fought upward, gained lift for a second, but he was shoved down again, and clamped into place while preparations were made. Locks were bolting up, blinds snapping shut; the houselights flicking off, encasing the little boy in darkness. A plate of cookies and a glass of milk were shoved down the long table.

_Huh?_ Delirious with panic as we was, Charmy had to stop and reassess.

An overhead light clapped on, allowing a limited vision - Charmy examined the comforting treats before him, and, feeling the pressure release his shoulders, turned to get a look at his captor. All he could pick out was a cyclic hum like an air conditioner, looming at his back, but darkness swathed the massive body. He was alone with his sweets.

Then the voice called. _"Are you all right, sweetie?"_

It took him a moment to orient - the body at his rear, while the words projected from beyond the table? "I'm scared," he whispered horsily. And thirsty. He grabbed the milk, gurgled it down a throat raw from screaming. Moving on autopilot, Charmy set his teeth into the cookies.

The voice smiled, and while he gorged, Charmy felt a soft hand stroke his head, just like mamma used to. _"Better?"_

"M-hmm." His eyes closed, so comforted by this familiar affection and he snuggled his head against the caressing palm working its way down the side of his head to the chin-strap microphone.

"NO!" He recoiled, slapping his face where she'd touched him like there were slimy worms to throw away. "You lemmie go! Or else ..." he threatened, "... or else Vecter an' Espio are gonna get you!"

_"Oh, honey - "_

Charmy covered his ears. "I'm not talkin' t'you! You're a bad lady an' we're gonna put you in jail, you thiefstealer!"

The voice giggled, but Charmy had faith enough in his promise that his hands balled into baby fists. Until her laugh doubled - a low, gurgling chuckle off to the opposite side; Charmy spun, wondering how she'd moved so quickly, but even as he turned he felt her presence brush past from behind! And though he tried to catch her body at his back, her voice was still laughing from in front!

A musical laughter from one spot warped to a crazed cackle from the other - the dark cave carried her voice to echo and multiply: clicking footsteps from the front thundered into hammer-stomps from behind. At his right; no, to his left - no! standing behind him as well! She was a ribbon winding his little puddle of light in her net - she was everywhere!

_"Sweetheart,"_ the voice crooned, and the snake coiling around focused itself to a single source, _"You're at the wrong house." _

_Yeah, I am,_ he gulped. "Nu-uh!" Charmy fired back, a last attempt. "and you're not my mommy, you're that Ellie Slater mouse-lady, y-you b-bad - " His bark faltered. She approached, as if reading his snaps like a challenge, until she'd clicked into the edge of the light and the shadows cast across her face peeled away. Charmy flinched and hid, but between the cracks in his fingers, she displayed only the sweetest, most forgiving smile.

"Oh but honey, this _must_ be the wrong place, and I _can't_ be this bad lady," she raised a finger and thumb to her throat, for the zipper clasp to her white jacket, "because I'm not a mouse."

The clothing teased open, splitting in two as she peeled the fabric down her shoulders, down her arms, off and away like the shell of a chrysalis, and Charmy's face drew up wide and amazed to see her veiled figure stretch and flex to its full expanse.

"Are you an Angel?" he whispered.

"No," she returned with a wicked smile. "I'm something better."

**--------------------------**

His broken gasps for air - a weak and pathetic straining at life - were all that kept Espio sane. His vision watered to a blur, but his ears clearly heard the ring of his bruised skull. _Alone._ They'd broken his body and thrown him away all alone. He couldn't move - he wanted to collapse in a heap to the floor, but the sticky bonds around his chest, his arms, his legs held up his joints like hooks dug into a dangling marionette. He was taped down to a chair - even his tail had been stretched to its limit and bound to this stake in the ground.

Oh God-that-didn't-exist, this was it. He would have loved to imagine Fathead tied up too - why else hadn't he been freed yet? - but Espio remembered the harsh parting words, the partnership, the obligations dissolved. Every man for himself, and his straw had drawn short. He was gonna die, he was gonna die.

Footfalls shuddered through the wood, closer and closer, and an adrenaline shock bolted Espio's face up. _Always a way out, always a way out._ He was a detective, wasn't he? Had to be something around he could use! Triangular rafters - they'd pitched him into the attic; the cyclops-eye porthole shone at his back. But even as he scanned, the trapdoor ladder tore into the ground, piercing light into the holding cell and crescendoing the approaching executioner's march. _Hiss-chunk. Hiss-chunk._

The robot - the screw-up factor - was the first figure he made out. His attacker borrowed only the most basic human shape - unsheathed, the scarecrow was monstrously disproportionate: a bodybuilder's thick, barrel chest against dainty gymnast legs and flipper feet. Spiked biker-cuffs at its cannon-wide wrists and knightly armor over its shoulders. It didn't even have a proper cranium, just a peeping band of black sensors - arms and pecs were the brute's design plan. It thundered for Espio with one arm outstretched in a gesture of offering, so careful to hold its joints at a perfect balance, because it's head sat in the palm of its hand.

It braked, although Espio was a minor obstruction - seated, he barely matched the titan's knees. Her boots swung around his eye level; to catch her face he had to pull his neck back like a peasant at the foot of a podium, groveling to the deity kicking back in her throne: high, mighty, but not so bound to formality that she couldn't relax. In turn, she leaned forward, chin resting on palms, inspecting her ragged little plaything with an uppity smile.

The beauty of her face had aged; hardened. No longer the soft snow of youth, but the smoothed ivory of experience. She'd hacked her flowing hair down to a crewcut, sheared away her bangs and left only tattered tails down her bronzed neck. But he recognized her eyes, and the wild mischief hooded by sleepy lashes. The Red Queen.

Those eyes turned away; addressed the package in her lap. "Is this your friend, honey?" Cuddled like a prize kitten, Charmy Bee peered forward and brightened to see his elder. "Espio! You're okay!"

The chameleon wasn't watching. The smirk on her face had darkened. Ellie took the boy in her hands and offered him to the air like a butterfly. Charmy dove into Espio's face, tremendously happy and tremendously chatty.

"It's okay Espio - we're at the wrong house! But don't worry - I told the nice lady all about us, and how we got to Serena, and I told her we were sorry for buggin' her! So now everything's okay and we can go," he turned to the white woman, the flower in the metal pod, "right?"

Ellie gave her last kind nod. "Tie him up."

The machine swept it's free claw, snapping Charmy from the air. "Hey!" the boy squeaked, "You said - "

Ellie continued orders while she swung in her legs and scooted to the robot's shoulderpad. "Make sure you tether him to the chair, Omega - I don't want that thing flying around."

"At once, Mistress!"

Something precious and innocent shattered inside Charmy Bee. "You tricked me!" he howled. "Espio, she tricked me!"

The chameleon wasn't listening. Ellie had turned away to mount a higher seat, and the top she wore was little more than a bandana tied over her chest, revealing a full, horrible view of her back. Espio whispered a swear.

Her muscle-toned left arm lifted over her head to take hold of a purchase, then the right joined to steady her grip. Her two layers of shoulderblades, stacked atop one another like lizard scales, flexed and wormed beneath her skin while she moved. Her arms pushed her body up until her elbows locked, and when those arms could raise no further, the two socket joints budding from her back rotated, and the two limbs branching from her upper back reached and clawed around the ceiling rafters to raise her over Omega's shoulders.

The arms were smooth, sun-bronzed for a matching set of four. Four rotating shoulders; four elbows to bend into ready V-positions; four wrists that flexed four cupped palms. But the hands - the bones of her fingers had grown monstrously long - long as her arms themselves and thin as umbrella wire, with knuckles that bent to her elbow, not her palm. Each of them stitched together by a membrane of flesh, with her little finger netted to her elbow. Finally seated, she gave each limb a generous stretch, and when her webbed, umbrella-wire fingers spread there came a sweep of wind and the air filled her flesh like - like ... _wings!_

"What the Pit are you?"

"Hmm?" She'd seemed to forget her audience. "Oh, I'm not from around this continent. _Eidolon helvum,_ sweetheart, but you can call me a Bat."

Charmy's torso was now completely wound in silver tape, and the war-machine called Omega bent low, fastening a short rope from the boy's ankle to the leg of Espio's chair. "You're a liar!" Charmy yelled over tears. "You're a liar and I hate you!"

She blew a kiss. "I love you too, honey." Espio tried to steady his breath, but for a moment, their eyes shared a level; hers frowned at the roughed-up chameleon and one of her webbed arms reached past her neck to take his face. Her umbrella-wire fingers were useless, he guessed, seeing the spidery things fold to her elbow like a paper fan, but her thumb grew a wicked black talon, and with the rough cup of her palm she snapped up some molting skin and peeled the strip off his forehead.

"So thin," she tssked, as if inspecting a stray cat on her doorstep. "And you're sloughing all over. We'll have to get you cleaned up, little guy."

His eyes shut and his head tipped back, so exhausted from so simple, so precious a touch.

A final set of footsteps creaked up the stairwell, and a hunched crown of sickle spines rose into the attic, a nasty little beast all wires and knife-edges against the robot's bulk, his fur tattooed with blood-red streaks. Seph the Atelerix, free of his black disguise, but in his weakened vision, Espio swore it was the Nightmare from three years ago.

The hedgehog tossed a piece of wire to the Queen. "It's fixed," he grunted, crossing his arms and going into standby. Espio froze, recognizing his stripped down comm-wire.

"Thank you, Shadow." She raised the transmitter with her hand, while her wing-talon cupped the receiver to her broad ear. Two more arms were free to lean her weight against Omega, who like her mirror image, raised Charmy's microphone to its own sensors. "Let's see if we can't find your little ringleader. Hello? Wake up - "

ooooooooo

_"- Vector."_

The croc bolted and mashed his earphones against his head. "Charmy? Espio?" He strained to catch the weak signal.

_"Indisposed,"_ smiled the lovely voice. _"May I take a message?"_

His heart crushed like a fist. "Whadda you done with 'em!"

_"Ooh,"_ the voice giggled. _"I-know-something-you-don't-know."_

Vect or wondered for a moment if he was speaking to a young child. "If you hurt 'em -" he warned,

_"Oh, believe me, I can. It all depends on whether you play nicely, Vector."_

"Who told you my -"

_"name? I know all about you, Crocodile. He's a very chatty little boy, isn't he?"_

Vector roared.

ooooooooo

The war-machine jerked. "Audio transmission pin-pointed. Do you wish to engage pursuit-mode?" The black hedgehog flexed and cracked his hands.

The Queen hopped to the floor, detaching from her mechanical arms and legs. "Temper, temper, crocodile," she crooned over the mike, while mouthing to her other bodies, _Get him._

The executioner's march thundered downstairs.

ooooooooo

_"Do you know who this is, Vector?"_

Blast her, how dare she keep calling him by his name, like they were old buddies. _"Do you know who I am?"_ she pressed, edging out of her sweetness.

A door slammed, far away, and Vector scanned the mountain while he spoke. "Yeah - Arya Rane, Natalie Velika, Amber Auryon - I gatcha number. Yer teh Red Queen, Ellie Slater."

Ellie S. gave a whimsical smirk at her list of alias. _"I'm called Rouge now. More exotic, don't you think?"_

Was she really this weird, or was she just keeping him busy? Vector started walking and scanning, never leaving the conversation. Looked like he'd tumbled far off the beaten path into the forest; he'd be safer running through a mine field right about now.

_"Do you like to play games, Vector?"_

"Games - you serious?"

_"You sent children to collect me. Should I take you seriously?"_

Footfalls were crushing the underbrush on route to the crash site. Vector picked up the pace, aiming for Serena.

_"You know, that was very rude of you, Vector - barging into my home like that."_

"Whadda you want from me you psycho?"

_"Hmm... Let's play tag! I'm it, and I'm coming."_

Now he could see her: the lumbering scarecrow and the nasty black rat zigzagging through the trees. Vector burst out of the forest with his snout over his shoulder, watching the brutes close the gap.

"Mr. Vector?"

He didn't even see her until she was a solid roadblock in his path. Vector jerked back one step lucky, face to face with his landlady. "Miss!" He took the rabbit femme by the arm, ignoring the mud he transferred. "C'mon, we gatta move, they're -"

Looking back, there was only the empty basin between Serena and Fang. The brute squad had vanished like ghosts.

No, wait - he could see them, tense and testy at the forest's edge, watching as though on the opposite end of an invisible barrier, and prowling the line for breaks.

"Mr. Vector, what happened to you?"

ooooooooo

The robot bellowed as if through a deep megaphone, and Espio could pick up its every line over the communicators. _"Attention: organic neutral-unit detected. Security conflict: Self-unit must not be identified. Pursuit mode has been paused."_

The only reaction he heard from Ellie was a bored shrug. "Whatever. Don't lose him." Flicking off the communicator, she could devote all four of her hands to grooming Espio, picking off his peeling scales and dabbing the blood from his face. Had he any hair, he supposed it would've been braided or set in pigtails by now.

"Ooh," she tssked, raising his chin. "That's a nasty little scratch." One of her talons went for his left eye; he flinched but she was careful as a mother, tracing the ghost of a scar running through his eyelid. "Someone wasn't very careful with your face," she pouted.

Grooming was perhaps too personal a term. He was being wiped down and polished like a precious stone. His heart thudded, and he'd lost the will to resist.

"Is Vecter okay?" Charmy was nervously polite, making himself known for the first time since his self-imposed funk. How could he be worrying about Fathead when they were the latest trophies of the Queen? "Hey!" he repeated, "I said, is Vecter okay?"

"We'll see, sweetheart." Ellie didn't deviate from her work, and it was difficult to know if she listened, or treated their yips as white noise. "Your friend stole something very special from me, and until I get it back, you boys get to stay with me."

Espio felt a helpless craving to itch his arm. The ruby, his pilfered little bonus - she thought Godjira had it!

"Are you workin' for the," Charmy strained himself to get the forbidden word out, "the Terrarist? The - the Doc -"

"Robotnik, honey. Don't work yourself up over a name."

"Yeah - Him. Cause that machine guy belongs t'him, and that's his black hedgehog I sawed on TV who robbed the bank."

"I don't have a boss, sweetheart. No one tells me what to do. As for Shadow and Omega, I saved those poor babies, and I guess they like following me around."

"They're not gonna hurt Vecter, are they?" But Ellie was back to dusting off her chameleon. "I don't think there's anything we can do about that cut," she frowned. Espio shut his eyes while her spider hands crept over his face, and the mark he thought three years had erased.

"Hey! What about Vecter!" She left the kid in suspense, but Espio didn't need any clarification, and he didn't dare correct her mistake. The museum; the coastside mansion - he'd seen what she'd done when someone kept her jewels from her.

ooooooooo

"Mr. Vector, what happened to you?"

His heart pumped in such a mad rush that he couldn't be sure anything was real. First he checked back on the forest, but only Mount Fang stared him down. There was no voice over his ridiculous looking headphones, only empty static. The mad fall, the pursuit, they might be no more than ghosts in his head.

"Out ... walking." He coughed. "I ah," he double-checked his muddy form, "took a spill." Miss Vanilla seemed alarmed, but only for his safety. So far neither of them were dead or tied down; he decided to push his luck. "Whadda you doin' out 'ere? Ain't there a church soivice right about naw?"

Miss Vanilla found her skirts quite interesting. "Actually, I don't attend."

"Huh? I thought you was - "

"Oh, I am," she assured him. "But, well, it's awkward. Being in there along with the entire town."

He nodded, understanding her burrow and it's solitary placement. "I guess you kinda like yer space?"

"It's just easier for us all if I keep my distance." She changed the subject. "How is Charmy, by the way?"

"Charmy? He's - he's at a friend's place." _What's her name?_ "Avery, yeah. Actually he's stayin' fer a sleep-over t'night. How's yer chao, by the way?"

"Oh, no change. They still haven't Iotaed, but healthy as when I left them."

"Huh."

Miss Vanilla suggested that he come with her to get cleaned up, and Vector bobbed his head in vigorous agreement. A cool shower to drop his pulse down and wash off these horrible notions. Charmy, Espio - how silly of him to worry such nightmarish thoughts. Kidnappedby a two-time murderess, a rogue Guardian? - just a stupid worry knocked into his head from that tumble. A _hallucinajashon_, the kid would've said. How else could he and his Lagomorphaic guide walk so casually?They made their leisurely little way through Serena, pausing to observe a delivery truck unloading in a fenced-off fountain square.

"Materials for the spring festival," Miss Vanilla observed. "I understand there have been live performers hired this year."

"Huh," he nodded, and left his comments at that, lest the normality of the situation wash away. Charmy really was staying at the little bird's house, and Espio, he was hiding his head in the sand of the castle ruins, that little creeper! As soon as he washed up, he'd have interviews to catch up with. The sky was beautifully clear, Serena was still a safe haven from outside troubles, and the only evil infecting the valley were bedtime boogies whispered to naughty children.

_"Oh Vec-tor?"_ He slapped at the devil's voice in his headphones, brushing them off to his neck. A mosquito buzz, nothing more! He'd fix that later.

At the burrow he lost himself in a long shower, buffed up his shoes and cleaned up the mess he and the boys had left in their guest room. His headphones kept crackling with that silly static, so he shut them off. Some passing weather balloon going wonky, he told himself. Everything was perfectly fine, he hadn't thrown away two lives and he could live with himself! Miss Vanilla called him for lunch, and they enjoyed a tray of sandwiches and lemonade on the green grass of her lawn.

"Is there someone waiting at home for you and Charmy, Mr. Vector?" She blushed at his sudden attention, but Vector gladly poured his focus to her questions - anything to seem casual, to be normal. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry - "

"Nah, nah; s'okay, Ah don't mind. But uh, gatta be honest with ya Miss - this bachelor's still on the market." He laughed at himself. "Can ya believe it - a bod like this?" She smiled politely, but his mirth didn't last. "Well, there was one gal, a cop. Actually, she ain't a cop no more - got picked up by _Solomon_, the S.T.N."

"A federal investigator?"

He nodded. "Somethin' like that."

"But something happened between you?"

He had some trouble finding a way to summarize three years that grew from an awkward debt, to a mentorship to a camaraderie tainted in mistaken emotions. "Guess the feelin' wasn't mutual between us. An' I guess I wus too stoopid t'see it."

"You don't seem like the best of planners, Mr. Vector." The rabbit femme sweetened nothing. "And I get the feeling you need to focus more on details, but ... you have very good intentions. And I don't just mean Charmy - you look out for others. I wish there could be more people like you."

Those familiar words were a clamp squeezing his heart. Even after all he'd confessed of his past, could she still respect him? And basking under the sun, eating good food, sipping lemonade - could he respect himself? What had Beth called him, once upon a time? The Indefatiguable Spirit?

"Thanks." He added, "but I wudn't mind seein' a few more a you out there." His landlady had to fight to keep up her smile and her weary eyes. This time Vector decided to push her. "Yer kid - Cream. Was she, y'know, born before the weddin'?"

"I never had one."

"Oh. I uh ... Ahm sorry. 'E ran off on ya?"

"He was an Outsider, so I suppose it was only right that he left. There's only so much interference this valley will accept. And he had ... work, to take care of. I'd only cause him trouble.

"I should apologize," her whispery voice began. "For the pressure I've put on you regarding Charmy. It's not my place to criticize you, and I'm sorry for that. I'm afraid I haven't been much of a hostess."

Vector steadied a palm on her shoulder. "Don't. I didn't like whatcha told me, I didn't wanna hear it, but I needed that." He grinned. "S'like ya said - I can be plenty comfortable just sittin' around. But I gatta keep movin'."

He grabbed a sandwich for the road and rose from his seat, tall and threatening as Mount Fang itself. "Now, if y'll excuse me, Miss, dere's some business I gatta handle."

**--------------------------**

Alone in the Serena library he dialed up the volume and snarled into the headset microphones. "All right, ya liddle three-headed witch - you listenin' ta me, 'cause I gat news fer ya!"

_"Ah - so you're back."_

"An better than ever, sweetheart. Now you listen up - either you let my buddies outta that house, or I'll have the Guardians crawlin' through this valley so fast yer gonna -"

_"Sweetie, can you look down and tell me what's on your chest right now?"_

It was so stupid a request he actually felt curious. "Whaa? Whadda you -" He froze up. He should have moved - thrown himself to the floor - but even that lifesaving dodge would be too slow.

_"Well?"_ she hemmed, _"What's bothering you, leatherhide?"_

Stiff as concrete, he followed through with her game - the only thing keeping him alive. "There's a red dot over my 'eart. It's a targetin' point. You gotta sniper scope on me." He was lined up through the library window like a giant green bulls-eye. On the outskirts of Serena, the scarecrow and the blade wraith were watching him through the glass with laser eyes, hands tucked in their pockets along with who-knew-what kind of weaponry.

_"Wrong!"_ Ellie singsonged, and the red beam danced into his eyes. _"It's a laser pointer. You know, the kind you use in business meetings, or as a signal light?"_ Vector marched to the window and took out his binoculars. Up close, the black hedgehog twirled the little light on a key chain with a dirty smirk.

_"Hate to say it, but Omega doesn't come with any sort long-distance sniper rifle."_ The big fellow - the giant really - raised a scarecrow arm and let the trenchcoat sleeve slip away from the rotating, six-barrel gatling gun underneath. _"He just goes in and he makes a mess."_

This time Vector did duck and cover. By the Primaries, that was no gorilla - it was some kinda robot! "You wudn't dare! You try one thing in this town, and there ain't no place in tha woild G.U.N. won't go ta catch ya!"

_"Even so, I could finish with you and these people before the Guardians even open your little warning mail._ _So I guess the question here is - which of us is stupid enough to throw away their life? And with you, it's really a one-sided argument, honey."_

Vector stood, raising himself to the window very slowly. "Whadda you want?"

The voice was in his ear, but his binoculars kept the wraith and scarecrow magnified. The hedgehog must have had an earpiece as well, because his lips muttered and moved in tune to Ellie's speech.

_"First, we'll go over the rules,"_ mimed the Ellie-voiced hedgehog. _"Rule number one - boundary lines. You stay off of my mountain, and you do not leave town. If I see you set one foot outside of Serena, your accomplices will be hurt."_ The Ellie-scarecrow 'Omega' snapped his giant paws like scissors. _"And you can be sure I'll be watching."_ The hedgehog pointed two scissor-fingers at his own eyes, then shot his pointer finger at Vector. She was watching.

_"Rule number two - disclosure. You tell no one who I am, or who has your little sneaks. Not the villagers, not your landlady, and don't even entertain the idea of calling the Guardians. I can move faster than you can imagine leatherhide,_ (the hedgehog's smirk turned proud), _and I can wreck this valley and leave before their hoverpods even get the signal to mobilize."_

"How 'bout the part where you give me Espio 'n Charmy back?"

_"Oh, them. We'll get to that later."_

"Lady, I've put off a whole lotta stuff I been too afraid the touch, but they're one thing I ain't savin' fer _'later'_! Now you tell me -"

_"- Just be sure you have everything you stole from me ready,"_ snapped the hedgehog avatar. _"And make sure you have plenty of batteries. You'll be called when you're needed. Ciao babe!"_ The rat even offered a little farewell wave before he and Ellie's other incarnation strolled out of sight.

It was too late to let Beth know, but she'd been right all along. What had she said all those weeks ago - that the Red Queen could never have worked as a solo gig? Well, she'd gotten things half-right. Mouse _shmouse_ - Ellie 'Rouge' Slater was some horrible kind of spider queen commanding six arms, six legs and three separate bodies slaved to a single mind and purpose. A three-in-one triad of will.

Everything he stole ... She wasn't holding the guys over something as stoopid as a few photos and and that diary, was she?

This was too much for him alone. Vector bowed to his knees, clasped his palms, and he prayed.

**--------------------------**

"Espio, we're gonna be okay, right? Vecter's gonna come an' save us, right?"

He couldn't blame the kid for whimpering so meekly. The window at their backs sucked all light out of the attic into the cold Serena night. Espio thought he could see his breath mist. With shimmering cobwebs and creaking wood, all the dungeon lacked to chill your heart were ghosts, and the kid seemed to be conjuring up plenty of those.

"I dunno, kid." He was slow as Ellie to reply. He'd been working at that question many hours now. "I don't think he'd leave _you_ here. Maybe he made a deal with her, and ran off."

"But you guys are the Chaotix! You guys wouldn't -" There he stopped himself, and remembered the discovery at the Corvalis docks which had began this entire mess. They'd abandoned their leader back then. "Maybe Vecter got mad at us. Maybe he doesn't like me no more cause I got beat up by a girl."

"I'd guess he's pretty steamed. Look kid, there is no more Chaotix. I quit."

"You quit!" Charmy's jaw hung low. "How come, Espio?"

"I won't be caged any longer," he repeated. "I want to spread my wings and fly, to dazzle as something great."

Charmy took only what he needed from the speech. "You suck, Espio! Now Vecter is all mad at us, and he's just gonna leave us!"

The floorboards at their feet leaked in the sounds of shouting and heated argument. Espio surmised there was some discussion about what to do about the two new residents. Every now and then he heard the war machine snap its scissor paws and bark "TERMINATE! TERMINATE!"

Some ultimatum seemed to be reached, because footsteps banged up the staircase and the attic's trapdoor flung down to admit the black hedgehog, thin and featureless as a silhouette.

Charmy screamed. In the darkness, the wraith's profile matched the Nightmare.

The noise actually spooked the mammal, and his head jerked to look each of them over.

The lookover lasted a long while. The scowl on Ellie's avatar was automatic, but the squint in its eyes seemed to come from some small, independent pursuit of thought. To Espio, it seemed like a child dumped into an unknown room: genuinely stumped about what to do.

It gave a canine snort and let them be. The final consensus of the eyes was of annoyance, and Espio understood as the hedgehog plodded over to a dirty mattress at the attic's end: The thing slept up here. They were intruding on his little dog house.

"Hey! I'm hungry!" Charmy seemed to catch on to the dazed and stupid look as well, and whined as loud and belligerent as he could. "I said, I'm hungry!"

The hedgehog needed an honest minute to chose a response. He ignored them. "Hey," Charmy fired, "You guys didn't feed us all day, an' I'm hungry!" His bottom bounced on the floorboards while he pouted.

"Kid, quit it," Espio whispered. Just because it was stupid as a dog didn't mean it couldn't bite. But the boy pressed on. "I'm hungry, I'm hungry, I'm hungry -"

The scowl broke into teeth, and it snapped. It didn't even step across the attic, it just burst into Charmy's face in a blast of purple hellfire. He snatched the boy in one hand, made a fist with the other and a long punching dagger snapped from his gauntlet. Charmy went goggle-eyed.

The dull glaze of the eyes was gone. The hedgehog had only fury, sharpened down to needlepoints. His knife arm spasmed, and seemed to fight an order to halt by its own accord. Neither Espio nor Charmy could even twitch.

The hedgehog finally shook the razor blades from its eyes and retracted the dagger. "Shut up," it ordered.

Neither prisoner slept a wink all night. The hedgehog tossed on his mattress till dawn, strangling its pillow and snarling at the mouth as if host to a demon. Its dagger arm flew up like a snake's head and jabbed its poison fang into the pillow, skewering it again, and again until the wraith startled itself to life.

Espio felt the kid shimmy up to his leg and quiver as the beast discovered its destruction. It loosed an acid-burn howl and turned its claws on itself - pulling and tearing at its head as if to dig out some worm.

_"Stay out of head, Doctor!"_

Charmy whimpered, and Espio risked detection by shushing him quiet. "Just keep still. Don't bug him, and he won't come."

He drew a little strength knowing there lurked greater threats. The thing was a brainless mutt; a puppet to act out Ellie's will.

If they were getting out of this house, they'd have to get past the puppet master.

**--------------------------**


	15. Shadow And Fang

Down in Serena, the night brought no relief of sleep for Vector. He _couldn't_ sleep, and paced the floor of his room while Ellie's avatars prowled the village outskirts, both sides puppets set in motion by her black hands.

Vector had broken his bones before; he relished the chance to bust a few skulls in the name of all he thought was good, and of course the crooks hit back. His scales had grown hard from fistfights and just plain in-fights with Espio. But this new pain could not be shrugged away. It was a mosquito hovering around his face; a tiny, gnawing nuisance that irritated his ears and prickled his skin, and it grew; the volume dialing louder and the itch spreading until it left him squirming with claustrophobia. _This is your doing!_

He wondered if this was punishment from God - a kidnaping in return, a poison made all the more potent in its aging three years.

Red dawn rose, and Eleanor made no contact. Nothing but a pestering insect hum; no reply but static. Rising for breakfast summons, he tried to hide his bloodshot eyes from Miss Vanilla, but the mother was watchful as a predator hawk. "Mr. Vector you look terrible," she exclaimed, and guided his dizzy lurch to a kitchen chair. "You look as though you haven't slept a wink!"

He had, actually, collapsing only for exhaustion, but sleep - and dream - were no sanctuary. The instant his eyelids had droped, the Nightmare of blue steel caught his throat from behind, and he replayed that horrible battle, every kick and claw. "I dreamt 'bout Carnival Island last night." That much he could confess. "Y'know, it's like the memories get woise tha further away ya get. First few days after, it was all fuzzy - like watchin' a lousy video. But now," he shook his aching head, "I can picture it all poifect. Nightmare gets stronger."

He paced aimlessly through the village that day, all the while listening to his radio headset and scanning for his guards. The wild, shapeshifter queen "Rouge" made good on her threat and sauntered through Serena to enforce the borders of his prison. Sometimes she was an iron wall trenchcoat clomping at the borders and lifting her hat brim to catch his eye in her red coal orbs. At others, she presented herself as a bare-bones hedgehog, hands pocketed as she slunk about like a disease. Mosquitoes, all of them - hovering too far to catch, but close enough to make their pestilence known.

Serena the prim, angelic refuge of nature lived no more. This was the wild country of jungle, and the mountain natives he bartered with were cannibals.

**--------------------------**

At the heart of the mountain chateau, Espio's throat was dry and pasty with spit. The chameleon thirsted for the cool relief of water, not out of dehydration - he wasn't a Furry; his scales didn't sweat and waste fluids - but because his voice was dry enough to crack.

"What else, kid? Did I tell you about how I left home?"

All his comic books and hobby magazines stressed silence and detachment to achieve the perfect calm of meditation, and right now he felt so stupid for ever believing they might work. There was nothing - _nothing_ - that was going to help him, and every breath he managed was a miraculous roll of a roulette wheel just waiting to fail. He wanted to scream and thrash and claw for life while his skin pigments flickered out of control.

And he couldn't. Because the instant he lost his poker face the boy took it as license to abandon all hope. If he breathed too fast, Charmy got worried and thought he was suffocating and started crying. If he startled at a sound, Charmy echoed his jump with ten times the fright. Bad enough the boy was a helpless brat hiding behind adults, but what happened when the kid figured out those grown-ups were helpless ...

So Espio made it his mission to lie, and fake serenity. And to distract his own panicky mind he found himself reciting his innermost stories to the boy, all to stave off terror.

" ... so my father said that if I didn't want to go to school I should just get out of his house; that he wouldn't have an "uneducated" son lying around. So I left. Hung with friends or wherever I found."

"'Cause you didn't wanna go to school, Espio?"

"Yup."

Charmy frowned. "That's kinda dumb, Espio."

"Hmph."

He made the kid spill his stories too - just to keep the wheels in motion. Dumb stuff like his favorite kiddie books or what sort of stupid music he listened to. The kid had lots to say about flying - how fast he could go; how his wings worked - and would calm down if he talked long enough.

Thus the day dragged out its bloated hours. Air chilled and sky dimmed for black night's rise, and Charmy scooted against his leg - touch, the only assurance they had of each other when there was not a lightbulb to see by. Charmy drooped into sleep but Espio kept on guard. All day the house had rattled and shook with slamming doors and hurried foot thuds: percussive chanting for the preparation of some wickedness. Two floors of distance had muffled the tribal beat, but now the sounds grew, like a heartbeat rising with terror, while a halo of light seeped through the stairwell.

The floor collapsed; red light issued forth like the hot blast of a furnace, and the Red Queen returned, rising through the illuminated floorboards on her mechanical arms and legs. Ellie had very appropriately kicked her long legs over the robot's minuscule headpiece, assuming all those vital functions. The wiry hedgehog pursued closely, matching the goliath's every step like a connected appendage.

"Mmm, Two am. Time to wake up, honeybun." Her night vision must have been exceptional to catch Charmy, still drowsy. She'd brought no light except the eyes of her steel body, but the soft white of her fur shone a spectral blue. Her tube-top was a radical hot-pink, and she seemed to be playing with some sparkling trinket looped around her neck.

One set of her fingers snapped impatiently; another hand waited for the hedgehog to toss her the comm-wire. "All right, let's get this over with."

ooooooooo

_"Wake up, Leatherhide!"_

Vector had positioned himself at the edge of his cot for just this moment. Shaking himself out of standby he jolted to his feet, wobbling from the sudden rush of blood through his head. "Uh ... yeah?" It was a pretty lousy response, but his brain was still waking itself.

_"Well, I was going to give you your little pests back, but if you'd rather sleep -"_

"No! Wait, ahm 'ere! Ahm listenin'!"

_"You have all of my personal effects?"_

The photographs of her in the chateau; the diary Espio had found, and even an odd picture of a young Rouge with Grinder and his brother - Vector had placed them all neatly in a knapsack, and checked them with paranoid frequency to make sure Charmy and Espio's lifeline hadn't vanished. "Gat 'em." He broke for a yawn. "How're we gonna do this?"

_"Go to the town square with the center fountain. They're setting up a sound stage for the spring festival. I'll be waiting for you."_

"Charmy 'n Espio - lemmie hear 'em; I wanna know de're okay."

She gave an unamused snort before switching off. _"I won't be waiting long."_

He rushed for the door, flipping the knapsack flipped over shoulder. He had to stop and fight off a sudden bout of vertigo, darn it - why had she picked such an awful hour?

ooooooooo

The Queen's face reared back in disbelief. " ... he's actually coming." The disbelieving laugh on her face was aimed for Espio. "My God, you must grow stupid just being around that freak! Ah well." Ellie tossed the comm wire over her shoulder, into the darkness. It wouldn't be needed any longer. Her jaded eyes looked over her two incarnations, apparently judging that even one of her was overkill.

"Shadow," she selected. The atelerix could not be seen, and when summoned forward his legs betrayed no sound, but Espio could sense the darkness ripple with the specter's movement. "There won't be any trouble getting rid of him, will there?"

"As good as dead," whispered the darkness, igniting an orb of violet flames to prove his word. "Chaos Control!"

Once their eyes recovered from the violet flash-burst, Charmy was howling. "You said you wouldn't hurt Vecter! If he gave you yur stuff back, you'd let us go!"

"Oh believe me, I'm throwing you two out as soon as possible." She leveled Espio a smile. "He's cute until he starts yapping, isn't he?"

Espio tried twisting his eyes to the rear window, to the outside where Fathead was being hunted. "You can't do this," he whispered.

Ellie looked down. "You don't get it, do you?" She narrowed her eyes and sighed, weary with all these explanations. Her fingernails tapped the metal drum that was her seat; the robot twitched, at the ready. She snapped her finger - Omega raised his arm and reconfigured his claw into a gatling gun. She snapped again - Omega retracted the artillery for a flamethrower. Snap - rockets. Snap - snare guns. Snap - knives.

Omega selected grenade launcher and leveled the cannon for targeting. Ellie looked both reptile and insect in the eye to ensure their comprehension. "I can do anything I want."

The weapon's black maw stared Espio in the face. The chameleon squeezed his eyes. "Let Vector go, he didn't do anything!"

"Oh?" Ellie pet her goliath and put her toys away. "I'm still missing a very precious item." The conversation was over; the mechanical half of her body was turning for the trapdoor exit, leaving Espio alone in darkness with an unbearable ringing rising through his skull.

He threw his head up and yelled after her. "He didn't take your gem, I did!"

She stopped. She looked back, unleashing so many emotions with the lift of her lidded eyes: shock, fear, anger; then her heels dropped to the floor and her long legs pounded forward with more force and volume than the robot Omega had ever pressed into the ground. Espio was very suddenly shrunk to an insignificant worm while Ellie Slater looked down into his inches-away face, her upper arms arcing above her head like mantis scythes.

She dropped her regal height, pinning her talon over his shoulder and pressing her foot onto his thigh. He gasped, not from the shock of contact, but because the toe of her boot was a sharpened knife.

"Where?" she demanded, furious in her blunt growl, leaning her weight further into his skin. His breaths came short and panicked.

"My arm," he blurted while her toes wiggled deeper, digging for his arteries. "Left arm - inside a pouch of skin, it's there!"

Three limbs grappled to his face like sucker-pad tentacles: his neck, his shoulder, his arm - she clamped them all into place, taking the nail of her remaining palm to draw a cut through his silver tape bonds. Her breath shook to see the hidden treasure; quickly crushing the jewel in her fist, she thrust it tightly against her chest, shuddering with equal parts distress and relief. "Oh, my baby," she cried, hugging the ruby tight with all four arms. "My beautiful, beautiful baby."

But everything motherly about her vanished when those cold, green eyes looked upon the little chameleon, still panting from his wound. Still clenching her prize with murderous strength, Ellie wrenched her boot out of his flesh, suddenly disgusted at the slightest contact.

"There - you've got it! Now call your man back, please!"

Ellie was suddenly more interested in stroking her wonderful little ruby, raising it close to her face and offering reassuring little coos to her child. "Hey!" Espio shouted while she and her second-third turned away. "HEY!"

The attic trapdoor slammed shut, sealing Espio in darkness. The flames in his leg had been slow to register, but now he screamed.

"Espio, are you okay, Espio? Are you oka -"

"NO! NO, I'm not okay you little brat!" His breath had trouble catching up with his rage. "I try and do one good thing for you ingrates, and what do I get?" He could only look down at his bleeding leg, "I bet I can't even walk now! Just - just shut up, Charmy. Shut up!"

ooooooooo

A half-dead moon still glowed over Serena, but even with a full disc Vector would have remained blind and helpless, trailing his claw across the burrow wall like a cripple leaning on his crutch. His shins had banged so many chairs, but by some luck Miss Vanilla was undisturbed. Now outside and slouched in the doorway, he needed just one last moment to shake his head clear of sleep, slapping his face and jump-starting his eyes with the jolt of a flashlight beam.

He waggled the torch of light across the ground and dragged himself after its path. _For Charmy. For Espio._ His heartbeat was gaining speed; the detective instincts he'd trained were beginning to note details: the cricket chirp, the pinprick stars; the valley walls howling with the cry of a wolf -

For a mere second, the clouds released their hold on the moon; shadows grew tall and formidable, stretching from trees, from the cottages, and from the blade wraith glaring atop the burrow roof.

The only battle cries were Vector's; the creeper leapt without a grunt and pounced on the crocodile's back, hooking arms and legs around his scaly torso like clamps. Silver wire whirled in the night and dug into Vector's throat.

"Huu - !" Vector's body spluttered and stumbled in the valley of Serena, but his mind was yanked three years into the past. _Come and die_, hissed the voice of the impenetrable darkness, crushing the air from his body once more. Vector clawed at his throat, trying to tear away the bony hands dug down like a layer of skin. "Meta - son - "

The black creeper perched monkey-like on his back content itself with a haughty smirk. "Chaos control," it hissed with the assassin's voice, spreading a static charge through Vector's entire body. Vector forgot the crushing force at his neck; too freaked at seeing his arms, and his snout suddenly ripple like green water! He was growing taller - and thinner! - tail to tonsil, the electric pins were stretching him thin as taffy, shuttling him with rollercoaster speed towards a purple light and a black, pinprick hole at its core!

And then the pins released him into the snow. White, frozen water swallowed up his ankles and wind clawed his scales. At every horizon he could see the black night - the mountains guarding Serena had been torn down like curtains, and the valley soil had been swept from under his feet. Vector stood on the pinnacle of the Blue Mountains, and on every flank and front the icecapped pyramids stretched to infinity.

The shock of being lifted from valley floor to mountain top gave a delayed reaction to his choking pain. Ellie's avatar put its elbow to his head and forced Vector down on hands and knees.

The piano wire reeled back into its wristlet spool, freeing Vector's throat. The clamp-limbs around his chest slackened their grip while the wraith stood up on its quarry's back, and dismounted - casually, as if descending a footstool. "Hmph," it grunted, unimpressed. Against the black night it was impossible to pick out the spiny, inky creature - only the glow of a purple bauble, tossed playfully from hand to air set the beast apart from the darkness.

Vector flashed out his tazer and fired. The shot was dead-center for the wraith's back, but it sidestepped; before the cord could even drop into the snow it jumped - or rather, it burst - into Vector's face with a purple blast. The whine of sliced metal followed an upward swipe of its arm, and the barrel of Vector's tazer spun into the snow.

Three flashes of purple light - three kicks at his left, right, back - Vector collapsed, the speed of his defeat earning him a haughty snort from the creature. "Pathetic," it sneered, bending to slice the knapsack from Vector's snow-planted body.

No more than ten seconds - ten seconds to spring a trap and beat him senseless; ten seconds and his heart was already dimming from the cold elevation - _tacka, tack ... tack_. Vector's eyes followed the mammal and its black coat of fur, now suddenly so familiar, so obvious -

Its dismissive voice, its cool walk - those were Ellie's; implanted like keepsakes in a time capsule, traits in a child. It was an empty vessel Ellie had filled to the brim with her id, her arrogance and her desires. But this beast hadn't been hers to begin with - he'd seen it on television countless times (how could he forget) - the Doctor's black hedgehog! And the shape and motions were too similar for coincidence: this was The Nightmare. Those same hooked spines, those same bone-thin hands now robbing his body; those same red eyes and face set for an expression of cruelty. Maybe it was a different model; blue traded for black, with some fancy artificial skin; but it was still the servant of the Robot Lord.

_Tackatackatacka._ He let the wraith remove Ellie's trinkets; let it walk away and dismiss the beaten Leatherhide; let it raise that emerald over its head like a violet beacon and call out _"Chaos -"_

Vector plowed the beast from behind, shoving them both into the flash of light.

ooooooooo

The scream from one so close proved a killing blow for the honeybee. His eyes watered and his voice howled in warbling stutters. "I wu-wanna go hu-home, Esp-io! I wu- want my mommy!"

"I don't care, kid! Not listening!" though it was very well impossible to do anything but. The howling was grating. "Kid, look, just - just shut up. No more tears."

"I wu-want my mommy!"

"Will you shut up? You don't have a mommy anymore!"

And it was silent. And the price weighed heavy. The kid, still sniffling, had him pinned by the eyes.

"Wu-wha ..."

"Nothing," Espio cringed. "I didn't say nothing."

ooooooooo

Vector had no sensation of the distance they traveled, only that when the light launched them from teleportation like riders on a playground chute, the tackle meant to faceplant the wraith in the snow sent them flying down Mount Fang's slopes.

Screaming in a ball they tumbled, crushing each other in turns. Vector came out first, slamming into a fallen log; the hedgehog skidded further into the dirt and the emerald continued without either of them.

"NAH!" The wraith wailed and crawled after its treasure - until its ankle snagged, caught in Vector's green claw. A quick yank pulled the creeper into the air, easy as a burlap sack. "Gatcha shorty!"

The upside-down beast swiped its arms and clawed cat-like, but its limbs proved too short, its body too small to reach. It struggled with a growing claustrophobia, no longer calm and haughty - the power tackle down the mountain seemed to have jarred the composure from its head - it growled, it hissed and its eyes lolled back into its skull; the little gasping breaths came closer and faster together until it sounded like a dog's pant. The thing finally shrieked and locked fiery eyes with Vector.

The attack came swift and savage, kicking its free leg to its chest and launching a jet of fire. "Wuah!" Vector dropped the flaming garbage; it flipped mid air to a crouch, pausing its descent a half-inch from the ground. The shoes, Vector realized, weren't just fancy booby traps - the thing was floating on the hot air from its soles!

The creature barred its fangs and settled down to business, first tossing the knapsack from its back, then clicking its heels to spring-launch sickle blades from the sides of its shoes. It was all animal now, back hunched and spines raised like a hunting cat. Its nostrils twitched with breath but it made no sound - sliding above the ground without need to tamp sticks and stones as Vector did, it could literally disappear - out of sound, and in the darkness, out of sight!

The blade wraith dashed close, nothing but strips of red lightning. Vector panicked; he fell into memory, the light-speed moves of the Nightmare overlapping this new foe, so while a living shadow charged for a hit, Vector reacted to the blue, skeletal mech lunging its foot at his chest.

Vector shut his eyes and dived aside. The darkness sailed past, and there was no telling who was more surprised.

The animal-wraith charged again: left kick, side slash, axe kick. Vector, still dizzy and three years behind, stepped aside from blows he'd seen repeated time and time again in his dreams. The wraith, abandoned to its feral eyes, couldn't comprehend the lucky misses, but Vector realized his advantage: Ellie's little puppet, this black hedgehog of the Robot Lord - it moved, and it fought exactly like that assassin mech!

And when the next charge came, Vector could barely keep back his hooting laughter! Knife-edged kicks and slashes whipped through the air, and he knew every pattern from the starting charge. He sidestepped, he dipped back, and then he treated the creeper to a bash from his fist!

This was no mammal, and far from a brute animal - it was a machine! A machine built to enter battle and unleash its pre-programmed attack patterns! And it was so red-hot steamed, it couldn't realize how bad it was gonna hurt! Vector snapped up the wraith's wrist and chucked his half-sized attacker like a discus. A tree exploded into wooden shrapnel.

The beast rose slow, and dizzy - weary but still panting furious beads of sweat. Vector stepped into defense, fists high and set for the next charge. The wraith scowled, and some new algorithm must have clicked into its brain - it took a step back, letting darkness spread over its sickle spines. It stepped again, throwing a black mantle completely over its body. Vector blinked, and it disappeared.

_Shoot!_ That thing did better camouflage than Espio! It wasn't running; no, the yowl of a predator wolf just then seemed to underscore that point. The machine still had a job to complete. Just one mystery for the master detective - where would the blow come from?

ooooooooo

Charmy couldn't leave the slip-up alone. "What's wrong with my mommy? Is she okay? ... You know where she is, Espio, tell me!"

"ALL RIGHT!" _You win kid._ Too many pains clawed for his attention, enough to break three years of washed hands. Now, anything to shut up that helpless, agonizing pleading ... "I wantcha to think back to Carnival Island, okay? You remember all those egg-shaped capsules dumped around? Well that's where the Doctor stuffs all the animals he's gonna put into his robots."

"I don't get it."

"Don't you know how he ..." Espio chided himself. "Course you wouldn't. Vector wouldn't let you hear how he makes his robots. The Doctor, he sticks little animals inside, like living batteries. They say he puts mammals and humans into the really big ones; skyscraper size, but for regular war-mechs, what he's really after is the small stuff: flickeys, chao." Espio swallowed. "Insects."

Charmy's eyes opened wide to the vision of a new, dark world. His face spun away. "NO! You're a liar Espio!" He was jittering and trying to hide. "You're lying t'me!"

"The mechs got away with a lot of those capsules, that day," Espio continued. Half or whole, what difference did it make? "But the ones they left, the ones still full ... when G.U.N. came ..."

"LIAR!" Charmy screamed the mantra over his tears. "LIAR LIAR LIAR!"

"Kid, I'm -"

"STOP TALKING!" Charmy howled. He was thrashing on the floor, all to escape the voice. "Charmy -" "STOP IT, STOP!" The boy's fists were trapped; all he had left were his teeth, and they sunk into Espio's leg where words could not. "AAH!"

"Liar," the boy cried. "You'rE all liars - you an' Vecter, an everybody. Liars ..."

Charmy collapsed on the floor, a dead little thing without hope.

ooooooooo

A wolf continued its howl through the valley, calling out the hour of the hunt.

_Where was it?_ Every whisper of tree and leaf was suspect, but useless! The wraith was invisible, undetectable vapor - no sight, no sound, and out there, embraced by blackest element, it circled Vector for a moment of weakness.

_I'm a detective_, Vector repeated. He had to keep collected - this was a mystery in miniature. He had to find his target. Smell - no good, just his own blood. Sound - Vector threw his infernal headphones into the forest, squinting his eyes to focus.

_Beth._ He could hear Beth, chiding him: _The Red Queen was a name invented by the tabloids after a panic attack. She's just an urban legend._

No - no, she was wrong! Rouge was truth!

_The media ate it up and spewed out some trash about a super-villain who could melt through walls and locked doors..._

Well of course she was no ghost; she was more than voice or spirit - she was real, and that witch was bound by real limitations! Uncatchable Rouge had left the tiniest clues, the softest shadow of a presence that had brought Vector this far, this close. Think! What was _this_ creeper's weakness?

Cid Wheeler's voice murmered from the darkness: _A blade wraith is invisible, intangible; cannot be seen or heard unless they want you to sense them._

Vector's back was tingling. _A cold aura!_ Think! _A ghost. A machine. An assassin. Repeating itself. Hiding itself. It got Cid from behind; it got me from behind - _

**_It's coming from behind!_**

Vector spun, and the darkness, the silence, the maddening absence of all sight and sound shattered like black glass under the crack of his fist. The blade wraith, the phantom thief - a third of Ellie Slater's black will - solidified into flesh and blood, returning to the land of the living in an explosion of pent-up colour and sound.

**_"WAAAAH!"_** The puppet shrieked and spluttered and clutched its face in red-soaked gloves. _"Mha, mha fafth,"_ it wailed, as if tasting pain and its own mortality for the first time. _"Mha fafth!"_ Its fingers parted just enough to open a trembling, child's eye at the tormentor. _"Yu, yu brk mha node. Yu brk mha noh-ohode!"_

Was this the poor creature Ellie had possessed with her cruel will, cringing now like a beaten dog? Nothing but sticks and whimpering bones on its body. "Don't move," Vector ordered, taking one careful step forward. "I'm gonna tie you up, we're gonna dump you someplace where you ain't hurtin' nobody, then maybe we'll look atcha face."

The child's eye crushed to a laserpoint. _"NAAH!"_ Its runny hands became fists and a concealed blade sprang from its wrist - a final stab of treachery that was Ellie Slater. Its hoverskates wove drunkenly; it couldn't even breathe, but the miserable dog swiped its arm blindly to finish the deed.

The knife lanced forward. Vector lunged for interception. Jaws first.

ooooooooo

"Espio?" No one had spoken over the hideous, black ringing for such eternity. Espio was grateful to answer. "Yeah kid?"

"The Doctor. He has my mommy an' daddy."

"Yeah kid."

"So they're with the Doctor."

"If they're alive, then yeah."

Impossible to see, but Espio sensed an affirming nod in the boy's grunt. Charmy spoke nothing more, but dangerous machinations churned the gears in his head.

ooooooooo

A machine. An animal. Vector didn't care witch, but there wasn't enough _person_ in this hedgehog worth salvaging. He stomped forward now for the broken doll, and it whimpered and backtracked in a crabwalk, one ruined arm cradled to its chest, two craven dog eyes tracking the approaching dragon-spawn now finished with forgiveness.

Even in retreat, even in submission the hedgehog was plotting, and its desperate eyes jumped at every little root and stone as a possible weapon to overturn defeat. Then its good paw groped around a sizable rock that glowed violet to the touch. Vector cursed his speed, the creature gave a skeleton grin and thrust the emerald up to the mangled cry, _"kayuspeah!"_

Vector hit the ground, rigid and crackling with the residual charge of purple lightning. A high, gurgling cackle filled his ears. A child's giggle twisted rotten at this delight for wickedness.

The mortal wraith raised itself, and the wolf singing all through the battle howled louder and closer than ever while the hedgehog raised its one functional arm, letting the violet glow and the snapping electrical stone throw light into its murderous face.

A shot rang through the dark.

Its eyes popped wide and terrified. The mouth once so insidious now quivered, and the hand of death trembled. The shadow fell, but Vector was spared impact by a broken gurgle - _kayuscuntrl_ - and a snap-flash of violet starfire.

The detective was not left alone for long, joined by the electric whine of wolfsong, and a second predator prowling the treeline with a headlamp's glare. The hoverbike engine gunned off, and confident bootsteps trampled the ground.

"_Nyah_, whadda we gat 'ere?" Vector's nasal reflection hummed, reloading his shotgun over the crocodile's body. "I come all dis way huntin' fer the Ultimate, an all I get is evolootion's reject." Nack's snaggletooth leered ugly and his trigger-fingers danced merrily. The bounty hunter aimed his weapon.

"I ain't sorry the find _yew_, though, Leatherhide."

Panting from exhaustion, it was an effort to raise on his palms and nod back to his rival. "Same here," Vector coughed. "Wouldn't want any guy but you here right about now. Fang the Sniper, yer hired!"

**--------------------------**


End file.
